Reckless
by bluemuriel
Summary: When Booth doesn't answer his phone, Brennan goes alone to find a kidnapped girl and confront a murderer. My version of "fixing season 6" combined with "partner in peril." Trauma, guilt, eventual B/B.
1. Booth

**Summary**: When Booth doesn't answer his phone, Brennan goes alone to find a kidnapped girl and confront a murderer. My version of "fixing season six" combined with "partner in peril." Trauma, guilt, eventual B/B.

**General spoilers for season 6. **This story assumes knowledge of the first few episodes, and takes place not long after 6.03, when Hannah moves in with Booth.

**Rated M **for initial violence and sex. (I feel like a badass writing that. But it's nothing very graphic.) Later chapters rated T.

**Disclaimer**: Alas, I do not own Bones. No infringement intended.

**Many thanks to**: my fabulous medical beta Skole; other reader/commenters adangeli, Amilyn, bearlee_there, tempertemper, and real-life friend A.P. (_mon compagnon de la plume_!).

**Part 1**

Booth's cell phone trilled from his bedside table. With a groan, he pulled his lips away from Hannah's naked throat.

As he started to fumble toward the phone, she said, "Leave it." "It could be work, and—"

"You've been working all day."

"We've got a bad case, remember? Kidnap, torture, murder..." But his mind was not focused on crime right now. It was focused on Hannah's fingers trailing down the side of his ribcage.

"It could be the boss…" Booth closed his eyes as she continued to paint very distracting patterns over his hip bone. He had better retaliate with some moves of his own. "Or it could be the squints…" He tangled one hand in the hair at the nape of her neck. "Calling with some unintelligible results... of some unintelligible test."

She laughed. "They won't have any results until tomorrow, you said so yourself."

"I know, but sometimes they—"

She leaned closer, her lips inches from his. "They can wait. I can't."

-.-.-.-.-.

Hannah fell right asleep, but Booth lay there thinking.

I should be in the lab, he told himself. Or my office. Doing _something_. Even if all he could do right now was stand there worrying and getting in the squints' way.

But he'd already made plans with Hannah. He felt obligated to keep them; and besides, she was right: maybe it would be stress relieving. Maybe he'd have some mental breakthrough if he just got away for a while.

And, if he'd been spending far less time with Bones and her team lately… that was natural, right? Because this was the cocooning stage of the relationship. You went off with your new girlfriend and neglected everyone for a while. That was natural. It happened.

Booth had good sweaty fun with Hannah. At least, usually. She'd been just what he needed in Afghanistan. She'd been good for his ego, good for his sex drive, and good for his soul, after long days of teaching kids to be killers.

But now they'd been back in the States for a while…

He rolled over to face her. Hannah was on her side, turned away from him, so he saw the curvy outline of her body under the blankets. The smell of her hair… He could swear it was the same damn shampoo Rebecca used. And he still liked it.

Sleeping with Hannah, now… They were still vocal and passionate together. But it felt too… guilty. And, if he had to be honest, too intimate. He'd barely ever looked in her eyes while they had sex. But that was okay, because she didn't look into his, either.

Except tonight. She'd looked disappointed. And he couldn't blame her.

Booth turned onto his back again, covering his face with one arm. God, it was humiliating. And it had happened twice before, in recent weeks. That he hadn't… performed… as well as he should have.

Things had seemed fine at first, while they'd been messing around in bed. But then, once he'd rolled on top of her and they'd actually started… He hadn't been—well—as hard as usual. More like half staff. Not so pitiful that they'd had to stop. But Hannah had realized something was wrong, and might have asked a question, but he'd kissed her deeply, and kept his hands moving on her body. They'd been together long enough that he knew what she liked, so he could make sure she'd still enjoyed herself.

But he hadn't.

And that look on her face… It really nagged at him. It spoke of alarm and disappointment. It said, 'Again? What the fuck?'

He shuddered to think what would happen if Sweets ever got hold of this information. Aside from the slight to his manhood that Booth would feel if _anyone _got wind of this…

_Intimacy issues? _the kid might say. _Post-traumatic stress from your time in a war zone? Or subconscious knowledge that the relationship isn't good for you?_

But, Booth argued, I was fine at the start. It was only when we actually did the deed…

The other two times it had happened, he'd written it off as fatigue or stress. That could happen, right? You couldn't run around the city tracking down killers all week, with barely time to eat, then do a million push-ups at the gym, and still expect to have a perfect, rock hard dick at the end of the day.

Right?

Especially when you're pushing forty, and can't steam along the same way you did at twenty.

Shit, Booth thought. Maybe I just need more sleep.

He rolled onto his other side and stared at the glinting streetlight reflecting on his windowsill. A car alarm started blaring, but shut off after a few seconds. Booth took a slow, deep breath, released it, and closed his eyes.

-.-.-.-.-.

When he woke a little while later, the bedside clock read 10:30. The first thing he did was reach for his phone. He saw it was Bones who had called, but she hadn't left a message. Probably decided to tell him in person, about whatever bone spurs and bug guts she and her team had found this time.

But, listed after her number—when he'd set the ringer to mute—he saw another agent's name, and felt a little pang of worry in his stomach. Why would Larson be calling him? Was he even on this case? No, it was probably nothing. Just another clue they'd found, credit card receipts or license plate numbers, among all the other useless clues so far.

Booth rolled out of bed, clicking on the lamp so he wouldn't trip over discarded clothing on his way to the bathroom. When he came back, his phone was ringing again. The sound woke Hannah, but she didn't try to stop him from answering this time.

It was Hacker.

"Booth, where the hell have you been? She said she called you before she left but there was no response, and Larson couldn't get you either."

"She—?" Booth began.

"_Temperance_," Hacker said, "your _partner_ who decided to go get this kidnapping bastard all by herself, when you didn't pick up, and when she went in there he shot her, and she killed him—saving the girl, by the way—and then she almost bled to death on the floor of an old barn before our backup team could get there."

Booth could not breathe. He didn't know where to start. "Bones—_what_? How did—? He _shot _her?"

Hannah had propped herself on one elbow in the bed. She knew something was up even before he spoke, and she would have asked a question—damn journalistic curiosity—but he made an abrupt gesture for her to be quiet.

"All her Jeffersonian squints were working late," Hacker said, "doing whatever they do, when the bug guy found something that told them exactly where he's been taking his victims. Some old barn four miles off the interstate, and then they found out—don't ask me how—that the girl who disappeared was still alive. So Temperance goes racing off, called us for backup but didn't _wait _for us—which probably saved the girl's life, actually.

"And Dawes—that's who it was, by the way, we hadn't even figured out that much—he drew a gun on her, Booth, and hit her in the ribs. But a second later she shot and killed him—nailed him in the head. As good as any sniper, right between the eyes."

"She—" Booth stuttered. "Is she—"

"I don't know, Booth. I'm at the hospital right now. Emergency center in Germantown, Maryland. They said—something about surgery. Bleeding, organ damage—it didn't sound good. When I saw her there was blood fucking everywhere—"

"I'm coming. I'll be right there." Booth grabbed his clothes and shoved his limbs into them. "I've gotta go," he told Hannah. "My partner. It's—" He reached for his jacket, along with his phone and his gun. Now that it was too late to use it.

When he looked up, Hannah didn't ask questions. She said, "Go."

-.-.-.-.-.

Booth sat with his head in his hands in one of the hospital waiting rooms. This corner consisted of couches and chairs, set around a coffee table spread with magazines. There was a window with a fake plant under it. And a desk down the hall, staffed by a maddeningly patient nurse.

He had made the drive from D.C. in record time, lights and sirens flashing. But now he had nothing to do but stare at the furnishings, and try not to strangle his boss.

Hacker was off getting coffee. He had called Cam, after Booth, and she would notify the squints. They, and Brennan's family, should get here within the hour.

Dear God. What would Max do to him when he found out?

But Booth had plenty of things to worry about in the meantime.

"Tell me exactly what happened," he had demanded when he saw his boss standing by this same couch twenty minutes ago.

Hacker looked more shaken up than Booth had ever seen him, but he managed to answer the question, and ask some of his own.

First, he said, the doctors had no news—presumably too busy saving Brennan's life. The last he'd heard they were taking her to surgery, but maybe they'd be more forthcoming when her father arrived.

"So where were you, Booth? Everyone assumed you'd be on the scene, so you can imagine our surprise—"

"My phone," Booth blurted. "My fucking phone died on me. I couldn't even get the message until you called."

Hacker studied him for a second, but continued with the story. "Apparently she called us right after you. It was my one night to work late—because I don't have to bust my ass anymore, as Assistant Director—and I heard the call come in, heard that it was Temperance. So I suited up and joined the swat team…"

Booth felt his glare harden, and Hacker winced, realizing he'd better say less about himself and more about Brennan.

"When we got there… We're running in with our helmets and guns, ready to apprehend or neutralize the kidnapper. Ready for a possible hostage scenario with the victim, ready to tell Temperance to grab the girl once we took down the suspect…"

At this point, Hacker didn't need to manufacture any emotion. He looked a little queasy.

"But when we got there… She'd already shot the man and gotten the girl free, from where she'd been tied to a post. Dawes is lying there dead, and Temperance… she's got the girl sobbing on her shoulder, 'cause they're sitting on the floor together, and her side, her whole jacket—was just wet with blood. She had one arm around the girl, and her other hand, here—" Hacker put his palm against the bottom right side of his ribcage.

"The girl," Booth said, sounding dazed. "Her name is Ingrid Keller."

Hacker nodded "We helped Ingrid off the floor to make sure she was okay, and when we did that, Temperance just keeled over onto her side. I got down there… I was kneeling by her, trying to hold her hand, and—fuck, I don't know, tell her it would be okay, or whatever you're supposed to say in a situation like that."

If Booth had been paying more attention, he would have noticed that Hacker was far from his usual glib self. His voice shook, and his face, under the hospital's fluorescent lights, looked older.

"I had Nunez from my team come over with a first aid kit from the truck, and… Temperance kept trying to curl up, but we had to get her flat so we could at least cover the gunshot wound. She was probably in shock, all white and shivering like hell. And then—well, she passed out before the EMTs got there. Probably because it hurt so damn much."

Booth's head came up, and he took a step toward Hacker. "You didn't put direct pressure on it, did you? You don't do that with abdominal injuries! They're extremely painful and you have to…" He searched his brain for what he'd learned in the Army's emergency training. "You have people on their back with a pillow or something under their knees, because with a wound like that, lying straight puts too much stress on the muscles." Booth put his own hand against the base of his ribs, feeling sick.

"Relax, Booth," Hacker said. "We knew what to do. We didn't have the pillow thing, but—"

"Don't tell me to relax! Or that you _knew what to do_? Because what the hell took you so long to get there? Why didn't you stop her, make her wait for backup? God, how could she have been so stupid? She just walked right in—and gave him a chance to fire on her?"

Hacker started to say something, but Booth kept going. "You know how she is! You have to threaten her with no more field work if you want her to cooperate. And I can't believe—"

"Hey, Booth—"

But Booth had changed topics. "How close range was the shot?" he demanded. "What caliber gun?"

Hacker exhaled loudly, like he wanted to yell back, rather than answer. "The perp had a nine millimeter. And how close—however wide a barn is. Like from here to…" He gestured vaguely down the hall. "We've got our guys analyzing the scene."

Booth realized that his boss still wore a bulletproof vest and black FBI jacket. They looked incongruous with the shiny, expensive shoes he wore to the office.

"But what about…"

"If you would shut up and let me finish," Hacker said. "The ambulance wasn't far behind us, thank God, because the EMTs…" his voice dropped. "They said she was unresponsive and they had to… They put a breathing tube down her throat. I didn't see it; I had a ton of phone calls to make, but—holy shit. I probably would've pissed myself if I'd seen all that.

"And they didn't know the bullet's trajectory—lungs, liver, spleen… But they said if it had gone any differently, or if they'd gotten there any later, she could have… she could have bled out."

That was when Booth sat down, because his legs had lost their strength.

He remembered that, too, from his training. Liver, stomach, spleen—hit any of those, and you can bleed to death in minutes.

Hacker sat down next to him. The sleeve of his jacket pushed up a little, revealing his white dress shirt. And there on the cuff, Booth saw a crimson patch of blood.

Bones' blood.

Clenching his jaw, he stared fixedly at the white floor tiles under the coffee table. He let out a long, unsteady sigh.

The two men sat silently for a few moments, in almost identical poses: elbows on knees, hands tightly clasped.

"Wait…" Hacker lifted his head. "You never said what you were doing tonight. Where the hell were you, anyway?"

"I—" Booth spoke through gritted teeth. "I was out, I told you, and my fucking phone died. What do you care where I was?"

"Hey!" Hacker held up his hands, looking angry for the first time. "I care because I'm your boss, and because you're supposed to have at least a superficial respect for the chain of command."

"Okay," Booth said, "_sir_, but—"

"I might have to fire you for negligence. You're Temperance's partner, after all. You're the one who's supposed to be in the field with her and keep her inside FBI procedure. You know, keep a rein on her."

"What is she, my _horse_?"

He glared at Hacker, and Hacker glared back.

The boss looked away first.

"Fine," he said. "I'll stop blaming you if you stop blaming me." Hacker stood up and muttered about getting coffee. "Besides… It's not like she listens to either of us anyway."

-.-.-.-.-.

**A/N: **I swore to myself that I would have more of this written before posting. But this winter hiatus is the perfect time, right? I have a couple chapters in reserve (Brennan's POV is next), but I have to keep working. Look for updates once a week.


	2. Brennan

**A/N: **I was planning to let a couple more days pass before posting, but this is ready now, and I didn't want to wait!**  
**

Thank you to medical expert Skole and _mon amie _la mome, who read and offered comments.

To kick off Brennan's POV, the song excerpted here is "Splendid Isolation." Pete Yorn sings one version; Warren Zevon sings another.

**Part 2**

_I want to live alone in the desert_

_I want to be like Georgia O'Keefe_

_I want to live on the Upper East Side_

_And never go down in the street_

_.  
_

_Splendid isolation_

_I don't need no one_

_.  
_

_Don't want to wake up with no one beside me_

_Don't want to take up with nobody new_

_Don't want nobody coming by without calling first_

_Don't want nothing to do with you_

_._

_I'm putting tinfoil up on the windows_

_Lying down in the dark to dream_

_I don't want to see their faces_

_I don't want to hear them scream_

_._

_Splendid isolation_

_I don't need no one_

-.-.-.-.-.

Brennan called Booth as she rushed out of the lab. She listened to the phone ring and ring, while her footsteps echoed across the parking garage.

He was with Hannah. Earlier in the day, he'd said something about dinner reservations, which was probably code for sex.

Brennan hung up without leaving a message. If he wasn't answering the phone, she could swing by to get him, and they could call for backup on their way to the scene. But, as she started her car and pulled out of the garage, she realized she didn't know what restaurant they had gone to. Were they still there, or had they gone to his apartment? She couldn't waste time searching for him.

Brennan squinted in the glaring headlights of oncoming cars. Her foot itched to hit the accelerator, but weekend traffic was slowing her down.

It had been a long day in the lab, leaning over the remains of a young woman's body. Brennan could still taste the heavy smells of death and decay in the back of her throat. But those were replaced by a tingle of adrenaline, after the whirlwind last hour.

.

"_I have time of death!" Hodgins hurried over from his station. "With the insect activity on this second body, I was able to narrow it down virtually to the hour. It was that Saturday after she went missing. Probably in the evening, because—"_

"_The pattern is almost exactly the same!" Daisy cried. _

_Rather than subduing her, Cam nodded. "We couldn't say it was a pattern until we had a second victim to compare it do. But the timing is awfully similar to be a coincidence."_

"_The first victim—" Brennan had to make sure their conclusions were correct. "She disappeared on a Wednesday. This girl went missing on a Tuesday. And based on the insect activity, they were both killed the following Saturday?"_

"_It was two different seasons," Hodgins said, "and months apart, but based on the insects—yeah." _

_Angela grabbed his arm. "Oh my God. It _is _a pattern. Because the third girl, who went missing this week, Ingrid Keller—she disappeared on Wednesday. And today's Friday."_

"_Then she's still alive!"_

_Brennan shot Daisy a cautionary glance. "We can't say that with certainty. But I'll agree, the odds are…" _

"_She won't be alive for long," Cam said, "if we don't do something."_

.

When Brennan saw the sign for the highway, she grabbed her cell and dialed the FBI's emergency number.

"This is Dr. Brennan with the Jeffersonian. My team has discovered there is a high probability that Ingrid Keller is being held in an abandoned barn off the interstate." She gave directions, then told them there was a lesser chance the girl was being held at two other locations. "But I'm on my way to the first. Send backup."

As soon as she gained the highway, she accelerated like a race car driver. Her world narrowed to that stretch of road before her. It was darker outside the city, the blackness dotted by reflective signs, and streaked with red and white vehicle lights.

Brennan glanced at the directions Hodgins had given her, cursing herself for not getting her car's GPS fixed before now.

On the seat next to her, a gun poked out of her bag. She was very glad she had kept it, with extra ammunition, hidden in a drawer of her desk.

_Maybe I should start packing heat again, _she'd teased Booth, and he'd echoed her.

_Packing heat?_

_Yes, I'm being colloquial. Joshing around. _She'd been so pleased with herself. And he'd humored her, like he always did. But now, that conversation seemed very long ago.

_You don't need a gun, okay? I'm your gun._

These past few months, since returning from Indonesia… Brennan didn't know how to characterize them.

Work at the lab. Try to write a novel. Smile and pretend everything is fine. Go home alone, then do it all again the next day.

Some days, however, she didn't _feel_. And numbness might have been preferable. She could focus on her bones, the way she used to. Until Angela said something like, 'How's that working out, honey?' Or until Booth said, 'Hannah's moving in.' And then the pretending became more difficult.

Stop, Brennan told herself. A girl's life is at stake. There's no room for anything else.

She glanced at her weapon once more, before fixing her gaze on the road.

_My gun is too big for me._

_I could've told you that a hundred times. Here, take mine. Guard Megan._

That night three years ago, she and Booth had saved a kidnapped girl. They'd brought Megan Shaw back to her family.

Watching road signs, Brennan saw that she still had several miles before it was time to turn off the highway.

_Are you sure about this? _Booth had asked.

_Not at all._

Because he and Angela might call it guessing, when the team had made intuitive leaps to narrow down the kidnapper's lair. They'd done that again today, in the hopes of finding Ingrid Keller.

_._

_Once they identified the killer's pattern, they all redoubled their efforts._

_Hodgins went right back to his particulates, comparing them to those found with the first victim. _

_Brennan, Daisy and Cam kept analyzing different components of the body, while Angela went over some of the investigative leads that Booth and his colleagues had explored._

_It wasn't long before Hodgins shot out of his chair. "Pigeon poop and mold! That's what stumped me about the first body. The samples were too small to verify, but this time we have a lot more particulates that are better preserved."_

_The team assembled around his station, where he was punching computer keys to bring up several maps._

"_Most of these substances could have come from any number of places. But this precise combination—"_

"_Hodgins," Cam cut in. "Are you saying you can tell where he took his victims?"_

_He nodded. "I think I can get a ballpark. Maybe better."_

"_Then do it."_

_Hodgins started working his maps and databases, highlighting segments of the countryside. "These locations represent loci where the necessary concentrations of particulates can be found. The grass pollen and spider webs, also on the first victim, are too common to be much help. But now we have these identifiable, and unique, traces of pigeon poop and mold."_

_The mold, he explained, was a strain that could develop on straw, for instance if farmers didn't procure fresh bedding for their animals. "The high concentration of this sample suggests a neglected environment," Hodgins said, "like an old barn that's no longer in use. And those locations…" _

_Here Angela stepped in, with her knowledge of databases. Together they called up another map, where scattered squares represented buildings._

"_That's still a lot," Hodgins said, "but if we factor in this sub-species of pigeon…" He pointed to an additional map, and Brennan leaned over his shoulder. According to a study tracking bird populations, groups of these pigeons had recently taken up residence in several rural areas outside D.C._

"_That's it," Cam encouraged. "We're getting there."_

_They were still left with half a dozen places, but pushed on with their analysis. Angela cross-checked some of the barn locations with satellite maps and construction records, taking a few off the list due to recent renovations. Daisy jumped in almost as Zack would have done, eliminating a few more that were too far away, or otherwise inaccessible based on traffic patterns and the kidnapper's likely starting point._

_They got it down to three, and that was good enough. Based on her team's assumptions and her own calculation, Brennan could choose the most likely site. She ran to her office to gather her things._

.

Now she found the highway exit and turned onto a quieter road. It would still be several miles before the next turnoff, a dirt road leading to the abandoned barn.

But it was here that her memory became unreliable. When she would look back on that night, the exact order of events blurred together.

It seemed that she drove in a sort of suspended animation, not knowing what to think or expect. Had they guessed right? Would the girl really be there? And what about the kidnapper?

Brennan's analytical brain was not postulating scenarios or creating contingency plans. But then, she'd always had Booth, before, to distract and reassure her. Now she had only herself. And no Wonder Woman costume making her bold.

_Can I please shoot this one?_

_Okay, how did you even have a place to carry that?_

Brennan almost missed the unmarked road, but braked hard, and guided her car onto the dirt track she was looking for. Her headlights swept across gravel and glared on the bare branches of trees. The surface was rutted with potholes, and she was forced to crawl along, feeling every passing minute: one more minute that a teenage girl might be enduring torture.

If this was the right location.

She had traveled perhaps half the distance toward the barn, when she saw lights ahead. Red ones, far in the distance, then a beam of headlights, as a car made a slight turn. Some instinct made her shut off her own lights. Because it couldn't be the FBI's backup team; they were some ten minutes behind her.

Slowly, in the dark, she approached the end of the road.

The old barn was visible now. Slats of light came through the windows, and a truck was parked outside.

Brennan felt a cold wave of adrenaline. One of the suspects, Warren Dawes, drove a car like that. Booth had said he had a bad feeling about the guy. But there hadn't been enough evidence to hold him, or to single him out more than any other suspect.

If he was here, he'd just arrived.

Brennan stopped her car before she got too close. Pulling off to one side, she kept her eyes glued to the building for some clue about what was happening.

Was Dawes keeping the girl somewhere in the barn, and now meant to torture and kill her? It was a day ahead of his previous routine with victims. But patterns could easily be broken.

Brennan had no backup. No bulletproof vest, and no plan. But she could not afford to wait.

She got out of the car, taking only her phone set to mute, and her weapon.

The night was cold, but her face felt hot, and the gun barrel molded to her hand. She crept along the side of the road, until she could walk in the shadow of the building. The windows were boarded up, but not completely. This one on the side—she could look in the gaps between the wood.

Heart pounding, Brennan put her hands on the rough, weathered wall. The window was high, but she could just see inside if she stretched up on her toes.

A floor littered with old straw. Support beams going to the ceiling. Bare light bulbs glowing at intervals along the rafters.

And a man's back. Dawes, standing in front of one post.

Oh, no.

A girl was tied to the post, hands pulled over her head and secured to what looked like a hook.

Brennan could only see snatches, from her awkward vantage point. But the girl had pale blond hair, tangled and falling in her eyes. It was Ingrid Keller. Fifteen years old. Missing for three days.

Brennan couldn't hear anything, through the thick window glass. Ingrid seemed uninjured, but she was crying, and clearly terrified.

Had Dawes kept her in some other part of the building? Somewhere out of the way, like a shed or hay loft? And now he'd brought her out, in order to…

At the man's right was a table. Brennan had to crane her neck, standing taller to peer through the boards. The table held a variety of weapons. Knives, screwdrivers… She didn't need to see them close up to know what kind of marks they could leave on bone. Let alone muscle and flesh.

Brennan gripped her gun, and headed for the barn door.

She could not say if she'd intended to wait for backup. Perhaps she'd thought the kidnapper would be absent. She could find where the girl was being held, and free her right away.

With the man there… waiting for backup was the logical thing. But logic couldn't stand against this. A child tied to a post. A killer about to pick his weapon.

There was no choice. No thinking.

Brennan moved around the corner of the building, past the truck, to the barn doors. She took half a second to appreciate the location of that entrance. From the window, she could tell Dawes stood near the barn's right corner. If she came through the door on the left wall, she would have a profile view of both him and the girl. And hopefully, a clear shot.

Brennan found the doors unlocked. She lifted the latch, took a breath, and shoved inside.

She should have used the element of surprise.

The door swung open with a loud creak, but she could still have caught Dawes off guard. With Ingrid in imminent danger, she should have fired first and asked questions later.

Dawes hovered too close to the girl. Brennan was a good shot, but she could have hit the victim instead of her target.

He turned as she barged in. She aimed her gun straight at him, advancing a few steps. "Back away from her! Hands in the air."

It was not a time to worry about following the rules. And yet she did, playing the cop and giving orders as Booth would have done.

Dawes had a knife in one hand. He held out his arms, without haste. His face revealed no worry, only mild surprise.

"Put down the knife," she told him. "Slowly."

He didn't raise his hands as she had said. He stood in front of his table of weapons, palms facing forward like an anatomy drawing.

Now his gaze flicked to the windows, surely looking for police or other weapons trained on him. Brennan wished she could lie convincingly. Should she bluff, and tell him he was surrounded? That he'd be dead, if he didn't do exactly as she said?

But she could hear Ingrid breathing. It sounded like suppressed sobs of fear, around the gag shoved in her mouth. Brennan saw it out of the corner of her eye: a roll of fabric, tied behind the girl's head. With that in her mouth, and with congestion from crying, it would be hard to get enough oxygen. She could be in danger of choking, of suffocating.

What happened next… Brennan couldn't be sure of the details.

She must have ordered Dawes to drop his weapon, with as much clout as she could put into the words. "Drop the knife and get on the ground. Now!"

I have no handcuffs, she thought. What will I do, even if he obeys?

He did move his knife hand, slowly. Keeping his eyes on Brennan, he reached behind him, to rest it on the table.

_No_, she was about to tell him. _On the ground._

But it was then that Ingrid made a distressing sound; like she was choking on cloth or saliva, and for one second, Brennan looked at her.

For one second, she took her eyes off Dawes. His arm moved swiftly—to reach for a weapon from the table? Or something hidden at the small of his back?

Brennan recognized the action as he raised an object toward her.

_It's a gun. _Her brain told her to fire before her hand could aim. She squeezed the trigger—the shot cracked through the air—but Dawes didn't stop.

She had missed, and Dawes brought his gun up and fired, the sound exploding in the high-ceilinged room. Something hit her in the ribs, sharp and powerful like a bolt from a crossbow. It made her stagger backward, but she didn't drop her weapon, and never took her eyes off the criminal. In the space of two heartbeats she had straightened, re-aimed, and fired.

As if in slow motion, Dawes reeled backward, a crimson hole appearing on his forehead. He stumbled into the table, the gun falling from his hand. Then he dropped to his knees, and slumped forward onto his face.

For a moment, everything was silent. Brennan's ears rang from the blast of the third shot. She could hear the girl's hiccuping sobs, and her own shallow panting. It felt like a horse had kicked her, knocking the air from her lungs. There, at the base of her ribs. She could feel the hot slickness of blood, but couldn't spare attention for it right now.

Brennan walked carefully forward, her weapon trained on the body.

She had to check Dawes, although she knew he was dead. Inching forward, she stood near his head. His face was turned away from the girl, his eyes open and staring. The hole in his head still pulsed blood onto the wood floor.

Brennan slid the safety on her gun and tucked it into her coat.

No more time to waste on him.

She hurried over to Ingrid. The girl's face up close: her eyes wide with panic, nose running, cheeks wet with tears.

Brennan gasped some reassuring words, trying to slip the gag from Ingrid's mouth. The girl winced, as Brennan dragged it free. And she knew just what that felt like. The saliva collecting at the back of your throat, while your tongue is so dry you can't swallow. The filthy taste of the cloth, like sweat and dust and blood. The way it tugged and stung the edges of your mouth.

Ingrid was crying harder, now, but at least she could breathe. Brennan reached to free her hands from the post, though the hook seemed impossibly far away. Stretching upward—it made her abdomen clench in shock. But she grabbed the girl's wrists and gave a hard upward jerk.

Ingrid fell onto Brennan's shoulder, and she half carried the girl a few steps—away from the post, away from Dawes' body—before they both folded to the ground.

-.-.-.-.-.

**A/N: **Next chapter, we're back in the hospital waiting room. And it's Angela, not Max, who wants to kill Booth.


	3. The Hospital

**Part 3**

The coffee only made Booth jittery. He paced up and down the hall, from the doors leading to the next wing, then back past his boss in the waiting area and the nurse at the desk. Past numbered doors, bathrooms and water fountains, to the elevators at the other end.

After about four passes, Hacker tried to joke, "You're going to wear a track in that floor, you know."

Booth ignored him. He kept walking.

He was trying not to see the scene in his mind. Bones, with a growing bloodstain on her belly. Lying on a barn floor amid dirt and straw. Curling around her wound in agony, while Hacker pushed on her shoulder to get her to lie flat.

Booth clenched his fists, wishing it wasn't real. It didn't _feel _real, because he hadn't _been _there. He hadn't known a damn thing until he'd gotten the phone call.

This case—teenage girls, abducted, cut with knives, and slaughtered—it had affected Bones as much as him. But aside from a few commiserating glances, they hadn't helped each other through it. They'd never really talked or spent time together. Sure, they'd done their jobs. In the lab, on the street or interrogation room, they'd worked like hell to track down the man responsible. But Booth hadn't had any success. It was the squints who'd come through in the end.

While he… At the end of the day, he'd left Bones at the lab. He'd rushed off to be with Hannah. Even if, deep down, he knew it wasn't right for him.

And today he'd left Bones alone just when she needed him most.

.

"_She thought I was you, if it makes you feel any better," Hacker had said over his coffee cup. "When I came bursting in to rescue her, she thought I was you for about a second. Called me by your name and everything. Obviously hallucinating, from the pain and shock. And then she got a better look at me. Hell, she might have fallen over because she was so disappointed."_

_Booth looked up with burning eyes. "How can you make a joke like that?"_

_Hacker's forehead was lined with about five wrinkles. "Believe me, I have never felt less like joking in my life."_

.

Booth dragged his feet over the tile floor. He was coming back toward the lounge when Cam arrived, with Angela and Hodgins.

He heard them before he saw them. Cam's voice spoke from around the corner, but Angela cut across her words. "They said the bullet punctured her liver or her lungs! People can die from that! They can die in five seconds!"

The trio came into view, and Cam's gaze found Booth right away. Her eyes were dark with concealed fear, but Angela was the one to worry about. She charged into the waiting area, Hodgins stumbling in her wake, pulling on her hand to restrain her. The artist's hair was in disarray. Tears glittered in her eyes, but she quivered with anger.

She marched straight up to Booth. "Where's my Brennan? Where are the doctors?"

Hacker stood up. "I'm afraid there's still no news—"

Angela barely glanced at Booth's boss. "Why did _he_ call us?" she demanded. "Why did he call instead of you? You weren't even there, were you?"

"I _would_'ve been there, but my phone—" Booth couldn't bring himself to lie again. "I just never got the message, all right?"

"Oh, you never got the message?" Angela was advancing on him, full of righteous fury. "Because you went home to relax, if we couldn't produce any new leads for you? Because Bren told you to go live it up and enjoy yourself, even if no one else could?"

"Hey, you know that's not—"

"So you left the lab, and when we found the location, and Bren went off _by herself_—when she called you, you had gone out to dinner with Hannah!"

"Yeah, and what the hell were you doing? You just let her tear out of the lab like that?" Now he included Cam and Hodgins in his accusation. "You said you wouldn't even have any news for _hours,_ but suddenly you come up with more crazy bug crap, and you let her run off to a crime scene without so much as—"

"Yes, I _let _her!" Angela cried. "Like I always let her—run off practically into the jaws of death—because I know _you're _going to be there with her!"

Booth drew breath to defend himself, but Cam stepped between him and Angela. At the same moment, the nurse from the desk appeared.

She stood in the corridor with hands on hips. "I can hear you clear down the hall! Let me remind you, this is a _hospital_. If you can't behave in a civil manner, I'm going to ask you to leave."

Angela didn't look at all contrite. As soon as the nurse had gone, she turned back to Booth. Tears were overflowing her eyes, but she didn't seem to care. "It's bad enough," she said in a savage whisper, "that you've been ignoring Brennan in your personal life. But to betray her in your _partnership_? I just don't…" Her voice broke, and Hodgins dared to come closer and put an arm around her.

"Dr. B made it this far," he soothed, "she'll be okay—"

"You don't know that! And _you_—" she whirled back to Booth. "Bren didn't even need you to do the shooting! _She _did that. She has a bigger gun than you have. But she needed you to _be there_. For her. _With _her. Because—"

Angela's voice cracked, and this time she couldn't go on. She covered her face with her hands, and let Hodgins draw her away toward the far end of the lounge.

Booth took a shuddering breath. He looked around for a chair, feeling ready to collapse into it. Cam had stayed at his side, but now he noticed someone standing at the edge of the lounge. It was Max. He must have just walked in. In time to hear that Booth wasn't there to protect his daughter. In time to hear the completely inadequate lies.

Booth felt Cam take hold of his arm. While Max… He was walking forward, and he wore the oddest expression. His face was tight and lined with worry, but instead of the cold, murderous rage Booth would have expected… when Max glanced at him, he thought he saw pity.

A confusion of voices broke out, then, and Booth couldn't really pay attention. Cam and Max were asking questions; Hacker and the woman at the reception desk were trying to answer. The nurse kept repeating, "Someone will be down to tell you, as soon as we know anything."

Booth sank back into the chair. He listened with one ear, in case there was any relevant information among all the speculation.

He glanced up when Sweets and Daisy appeared. They trotted in together, Sweets looking like a little kid trying to be brave, while Daisy clung to his arm, her eyes round and her lip quivering. They joined in the cacophony of questions, and Daisy couldn't stop squeaking, "Dr. Brennan got _shot_?"

Now Max was grilling Cam about how they'd found the location in the first place. Hodgins spoke up from his spot on the other couch, and Max went over there to hear the story. Booth found that he couldn't concentrate, even if he'd wanted to know. It was all just _particulates_ to him. But Max asked in detail about this straw mold and these pigeons. Because Max had taught science, Booth told himself. How could I forget? He's a squint too.

Hodgins was saying something about what Daisy had done with the maps or the calculations, and instead of repeating "I helped!" in her chipper manner, she looked ready to cry.

She was shaking her head, her voice shrill with suppressed tears. "I _helped_? I helped send Dr. Brennan to her death!"

Max asked Hodgins another question and the two of them kept spouting science. But Daisy turned to Sweets with a look of horror. "Lance, what if Dr. Brennan _dies_? She can't die, she's my hero! And besides, how would I finish my internship?"

Booth listened to the talk rise and fall around him. There would be a babble of _whys _and _what ifs_, but sooner or later a pensive silence would fall. Until someone like Sweets broke it, asking, _What did the EMTs say again? _Or Max: _How soon until she got help? _And then Cam would reassure, _Dr. Brennan is tough, and the surgeons here are very good… _

Booth glanced over at Angela. She still sat on the far couch with Hodgins, but she was staying quiet, like Booth was. Now she held onto Hodgins' arm and said in a low voice, "Bren wasn't even supposed to _be_ in a hospital. Not until about six months from now, when she was supposed to come for _me_. She was supposed to hold my hand and tell me that women have been having babies for millions of years, so…"

The corner of Hodgins' mouth moved, like he would have smiled.

"…So it shouldn't be any big deal, right?" Angela's voice trembled, halfway between laughter and tears. "She would tell me that I was playing an integral part in human culture and evolution, that my body is perfectly adapted for this, and that everything would be fine."

-.-.-.-.

**A/N: **We return to Brennan next chapter, followed by a medical update from Booth's POV in chapter 5.


	4. The Barn

**A/N: **Thank you to Skole for reading an earlier version of this, and belated thanks to adangeli for reading part of chapter 3, during our discussion about Angela.

The excerpt below makes up the first of two stanzas from the poem,"Ask Me" by William Stafford.

**Part 4 **

.

_Some time when the river is ice ask me_

_mistakes I have made. Ask me whether_

_what I have done is my life. Others_

_have come in their slow way into_

_my thought, and some have tried to help_

_or to hurt: ask me what difference_

_their strongest love or hate has made. _

_. _

Brennan sat with Ingrid in the abandoned barn. Though the girl knew her captor was dead, she was, as Angela would put it, freaking out.

At first she just cried, and Brennan tried to soothe her. She had one arm around the girl, who leaned on her right shoulder. That was the same side as her injury, but it couldn't be helped.

Ingrid would shift and squirm periodically, and Brennan felt the pressure down her bones and muscles. But there was no pain; surely the effects of adrenaline.

_I want to leave, _Ingrid started to say. _Please, I have to get out of here._

Her instinct to flee was taking over, and Brennan half agreed with her. Her own muscles quivered with energy. She felt ready to carry the girl across the barn, out to the car, and start driving back.

_I want to go. I want to go home._

_I know. But we have to stay put. Help is coming._ Brennan kept a tight grip on the girl's shoulder.

Perhaps she should call the FBI, to let them know what had happened. With her free hand, she dug her phone out of her pocket. Flipping it open, she explained to Ingrid about sending an update. _To let people know we found you_. But the bars of satellite signals flickered in and out. She was forced to put the phone away without a call or message.

_They'll be here soon. It's all right._

The girl was watching her. _But you got shot! You're bleeding?_

That simple statement, and Ingrid's fear, suddenly made it real.

_I'm fine, _Brennan lied. _I'll be fine until the cops get here._

But now she felt the wound track: a hole in her torso, through the center of her body.

Blood trickled down her side, seeping through the jacket. It didn't seem like an extreme amount. But the bullet had entered the upper right quadrant of her abdomen, and Brennan didn't let herself think what viscera it might have damaged.

She covered the wound with her hand, gingerly, outside her coat. She would not give the girl one more thing to be traumatized about.

Blood flow was steady and dark. Not the bright red of an artery.

Huddling on the floor of the chilly barn, she told herself she could make it. The backup team was only ten minutes behind.

Ingrid's slender shoulders shivered under Brennan's arm. The girl wiped her nose on one sleeve. She was saying something about Dawes—how he'd taken her prisoner. Brennan murmured in response.

She kept her eyes away from Dawes' body. His sprawled shape. The puddle of blood under his head.

Looking up, instead, she saw pigeons perched on the rafters. Hodgins' pigeons. They helped us find Ingrid, Brennan thought. She hadn't noticed them before. Hadn't the gunshots scared them away? Yet there they sat, ruffling their feathers, cooing gently.

She wanted to tell Ingrid about them. Perhaps give her a science lesson, something to distract her. But it was too hard to form words, and string sentences together.

It was also hard to breathe. She had to take quick, shallow breaths, not engaging her diaphragm. She was cold, and her heart beat too fast.

The pain was lying in wait. It gripped her innards, lurking like a predator. She didn't think she could stand it, when it struck. But she couldn't let it. Not until Ingrid was safe.

The girl whimpered, now. Her head bent forward, blond hair curtaining her face. Brennan tried to squeeze her in comfort, but she wasn't sure, anymore, who was supporting whom. They kept each other upright.

Shadows hung in the corners of the barn, where the light of naked bulbs didn't reach. Or maybe that was her vision, going dark at the edges.

-.-.-.-.

Brennan blinked, but her eyes weren't playing tricks on her. Uniformed men were pouring into the barn. Clad in black, rifles jutting from their hands, they all looked identical. But one in the lead hurried straight toward her.

_Booth_.

She shaped his name with her lips, uncertain whether she'd actually made a sound.

But he didn't move like Booth. His face was wrong. His eyes were wrong.

It was Andrew. Not Booth.

He and several others gathered around, asking questions and calling Ingrid _sweetheart_. Hands reached out. They helped the girl up, releasing the pressure on Brennan's shoulder.

Her world tilted and slumped sideways, and she found her cheek against the floor. She gasped—the pain was a tiger, eating her alive. But she lacked the strength to roll off her injured side.

Someone bent over her, saying _Temperance_. She could see black boots, and barn posts stretching toward the ceiling.

In the distance, Ingrid was sniffling. _You're safe now, _someone said. _We're going to take you home._

Darkness clouded her vision, and the white heat of pain blazed full force, pulling her under.


	5. The Chapel

**A/N: **Thank you to la mome for reading an early version, and to Skole for the fantastic medical information.

**Part 5**

Sometime in the small hours of the morning, Booth went out for a breath of fresh air. Because he couldn't stand to walk past the reception desk one more time, or sit on the lumpy sofa, looking at the pale, inoffensive color scheme of the visitors' lounge.

He'd dozed on that sofa for a while, and now as he made his way down the hallway, his neck and back had kinks in them. _Maybe Bones can use her magic knuckles on me_. The thought came automatically, before he even realized it.

But Bones was lying in a drug-induced coma in the Intensive Care Unit, and even if she pulled through, things might never be the same again.

Booth came to an exit and pushed through the door, hardly caring where it took him.

Besides, Hannah might not be so understanding about his partner putting her hands all over him, even if it was for therapeutic reasons.

There really wasn't anywhere to walk outside the hospital, but Booth found a few sidewalks connecting various entrances. Then he took a turn around the parking lot, which was lit by streetlights that blinded him with their glare, before plunging him into semi-darkness again.

He wondered what had happened to Brennan's car, then remembered Hacker saying, _One of my agents drove it back_. To her apartment? To where? Booth couldn't go find his boss and ask.

Once they'd heard from the surgeon, the group had dispersed. Max went to call Russ with the news. Hacker disappeared, presumably to talk to Ingrid and her parents, before the doctors cleared her to go home.

Cam had driven back to check on Michelle, but promised to return as soon as possible. Angela, like Booth, refused to leave. Eventually Hodgins persuaded her: _We'll get a hotel room nearby. You can sleep for a little while, and come back at a more decent hour. They won't let anyone see her until the morning, anyway. _

Sweets and Daisy… Booth couldn't remember. Maybe they'd done the hotel thing, too. Or had they driven the forty-five minutes back? They were probably holed up together somewhere, sniffling over the trauma.

Circling the parking lot, Booth dodged cars and oily puddles filmed with ice. It wasn't long before he'd had enough of that, so he ducked back inside. But he didn't feel like staying. Climbing a flight of steps, he found an open-air skywalk that connected two wings of the hospital. A couple employees were smoking near the door. He skirted them and moved down to the center of the walkway.

It overlooked the parking lot, some scrawny trees behind metal grates, and the lights of the city. Booth gazed over the railing and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. It was freezing cold out.

It hadn't been this cold when he and Hannah had gone out to dinner. God, was that really only eight hours ago? It seemed like another lifetime.

Because, he thought as he shivered, it's like I've been asleep. Since I got back from Afghanistan, and Hannah moved in with me… It hasn't actually been _real_. I've been living some nice dream and telling myself it's what I want.

But the dream hadn't been all that nice, and not really what he wanted.

Not _who _he wanted.

Booth watched a nurse hurry by with her head down and her shoulders drawn up. He blew on his hands to warm them.

Maybe it _had _been this cold last night. This cold six hours ago, in the abandoned barn when Bones was waiting for backup. She would have been sitting there, watching the criminal's body cooling on the ground. Trying to comfort the girl crying on her shoulder.

And wounded. Bones would be shivering, going into shock from the gunshot. It would be bleeding, warm, down her side. But she'd be more and more cold, because she didn't have enough blood in her body to warm her.

Booth pushed abruptly off the railing. He left the freezing walkway and went to find the chapel.

-.-.-.-.

It was located at the far end of one wing, behind a plain door. He entered into the quiet, white space. An arched ceiling sheltered two small rows of pews. Near the front, an elderly couple sat together, and Booth slipped into a seat at the back.

He glanced at the little windows lining the walls. They were tinted with colored glass so you couldn't see out. Not that there was anything to see; it was pitch dark outside, and the chapel was enclosed on two walls by the hospital building.

Kneelers were attached to the back of each pew, and Booth wasted no time getting on his knees. He wanted the most penitent position he could find right now. Elbows resting on the seat in front of him, forehead bowed onto his clasped hands.

He tried to clear his mind and pray. But nothing would come. His brain still swirled with too much medical jargon, with speculation and doubt.

All he could think was _Please_.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and because he didn't know what else to do, started reciting, _Our Father, who art in Heaven… _

He faltered when he got to _Forgive us our trespasses_. But the familiar words were comforting. They reminded him of attending church with his mom and dad, with Pops and Jared, and later, with his son.

_Amen_, he whispered, and started again.

_Hail Mary, full of grace…_

_Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. _

He knew he was a sinner. But no one was going to die today. No one.

He kept his eyes closed, seeing shifting shapes imprinted on his eyelids, in red and green and black.

Folding his hands tighter, Booth ran through the prayers again. He didn't think about the words, just let their rhythms carry him along. This time, when he lifted his head, he felt better.

Blinking, he looked around the room. Leafy green plants added color to the corners, while a crucifix adorned the front wall. It was framed on either side by tall, narrow stained glass windows, but they, too, were dark.

_Please_, Booth thought again.

_Please let Bones be all right. I don't care about anything else, as long as she gets through this._

-.-.-.-.

He found himself staring at the crucifix. It wasn't a very large one, but he thought Brennan would approve of its anatomical detail. This Christ was gaunt, the bones sharp under the skin: cheekbones, clavicle, ribs. Wounds showed brown on the ocher-yellow statue: dark blots of blood on the hands and feet, with smaller cuts under the crown of thorns.

And a gash at the side of his chest (where the holy lance had pierced him, Booth recalled from Sunday school). That wound, near the base of the ribs—that was where Bones had been shot.

Booth hadn't seen her, and couldn't be sure. But that's what the surgeon had said, and what Cam's translation confirmed.

.

_Booth jumped to his feet when finally__—finally!—someone in a white coat appeared in the waiting room. The surgeon, a tiny woman with gray-streaked hair, talked to Max alone, first. But he agreed to let everyone hear, and the whole group gathered at the edge of the lounge. _

"_She came through surgery as well as can be expected," the doctor said. "She'll be in the ICU for a day or two, so we can keep a close eye on her."_

_Sighs and exclamations rippled through the group, but Booth shut them out. He couldn't bother with anyone right now, not Angela or Daisy or Max._

"_The bullet deflected off one of her lower ribs. The good news is that it missed her diaphragm and right lung. The bad news is that it hit her liver." _

_Cam took a worried breath, and Booth glanced at her in panic. But the surgeon was talking about first line management._

"_She was treated at the scene to get her stable enough for transport, being unconscious from blood loss and shock. When she arrived she was given drugs and fluids so we could perform an emergency angiogram. That's injecting a radio-opaque dye into the blood, to get an X-ray picture of the circulation and bleeding points. Now, the bullet hit the blood supply of the liver, but not an artery..."_

_Booth heard Cam exhale, and when he looked at her, she murmured, "Lucky."_

_The doctor nodded. "What we confirmed, when we took her in for surgery, was that the bullet nicked the hepatic vein. If it had been just a fraction to one side… Well, someone would be standing here giving you very bad news. But the surgery went according to plan. We successfully removed the projectile and began repairing the injuries."_

_Booth was too stunned to react, but Cam jumped in with questions. "The liver was the only organ that was damaged? What grade of injury? What kind of hemostatic agent was used in the repair?" _

_He guessed this was Cam's way of feeling in control, and he appreciated her knowledge. He was still trying to process the answers, when the surgeon's pager went off. She made her apologies, and promised that someone from the ICU would come to give them an update, and let them know about possible visiting hours._

_._

Kneeling in the chapel, Booth glanced at his watch. It would be many hours before visitors were allowed, and there were no guarantees that Brennan's doctors—or Max—would let him in.

Booth slid off the kneeler and onto the bench, his knees protesting the position they'd been in. He'd forgotten he wasn't alone in the little church. The elderly couple from the front pew was getting up to leave. They nodded somberly at him as they walked past, and he turned, watching them. Their arms were linked, their gray heads close together.

They've had their forty or fifty years, he thought enviously.

That could've been me and Bones. I _wanted _that to be me and Bones.

I still want.

_Because there is someone for everyone. Someone you're meant to spend the rest of your life with. _

_It's always the guy who says, 'I knew.'_

But it's too late.

Because I'm with Hannah now. Because I betrayed our partnership, and Bones nearly died, because of me.

"_The bullet being deflected like that," Cam said, "reduced the velocity and lessened the damage, so there was no direct trauma to other organs. Basically, her ribs did their job. They probably saved her life."_

Booth stared up at the skeletal statue of Jesus above the altar.

Bones' bones, he thought with hysterical humor. Her own bones protected her, when I failed.

-.-.-.-.

**A/N: **Up next, Angela and Hannah—mud wrestling. No, not really. But they both have some words for Booth.


	6. Hannah, Angela, Cam

**A/N: **Thanks to adangeli for reading and writing many emails, helping me go from over-the-top Angry Angela, to this version. And credit goes to Skole for the phrase "circling the drain."

**Part 6**

Booth came out of the chapel on his way to the ICU, and ran smack into Angela.

"Whoa," he began, "sorry—"

She had barely even registered the impact with his shoulder. Her eyes were cold and bright. "I just saw Hannah in the waiting room."

"What? Hannah's here?"

"Yeah. She's bringing Brennan flowers, did you know that? But flowers aren't allowed in the ICU, because people are too critically injured to even have a _plant _in the room with them.

"And you know what Hannah said? She told me just enough to prove that you're a liar." Angela's voice was strangely quiet. She watched his reaction, as if giving him a chance to defend himself. "You weren't out to dinner when Brennan called, and your phone didn't somehow malfunction. You _ignored _that phone call. Because you were in bed with Hannah. Weren't you?"

Booth could have handled Angela, livid with anger. The way she'd been in the waiting room: tearful, passionate, ready to slap him.

But this…

He'd never seen her eyes so steely.

His voice was only a croak, but he forced himself to answer. "Yeah."

Angela's brows tilted down, and Booth realized, she hoped it wasn't true. She hoped I'd deny it, and give her a rational explanation.

"I can't believe you," she said softly. "I can't _understand _you anymore. You let Brennan get used to you always being there! But this time you weren't, because of—selfishness? Bad timing? Lust?" Tears glistened in her eyes, and Booth flinched at the disappointment he saw there.

Now Angela glanced at the chapel door he'd just come out of. "I hope you were sitting in there thinking really hard about all this. Because I want to know _what _you've been thinking." Her voice shook, but it didn't sound like anger. "You tell me, Booth, if it was worth it. You tell me if it was worth a nice roll in the hay with your new girlfriend, while your partner was off saving someone's life, and almost losing her own."

She took a step away from him. "If you can't show me some sign of being the person I remember… I don't want to see your face again."

Angela turned her back and walked down the corridor. Booth watched her go, feeling absolutely cold.

.

He saw her almost collide with someone at the end of the hall. It was Hannah, holding a bouquet of flowers. The two circled each other warily, before Angela rounded the corner and disappeared.

Hannah hurried over to Booth. "Seeley…?"

He wondered if she'd heard what Angela had said. By the look on her face, she'd gotten the gist of it. She came up to hug him, and he squeezed her quickly.

When she pulled back, Booth stared at the flowers in her hand. Cheerful pink and yellow blossoms, set in a foil-wrapped pot.

Hannah glanced down at them. "I didn't know what kind she liked, but…"

"Daffodils." Booth spoke without thinking. "Daffodils and daisies are her favorites." He felt Hannah studying him, the way she would every so often, when Bones was involved. The way she looked on the trail of a new story, before the clues fell into place.

_You know things about each other, _Hannah said once. _Things that… lovers know. But you said nothing was going on, and I believe you._

Booth knew he should reassure her about the flowers. Or thank her for driving out here first thing in the morning. It _was _morning, he realized. The chapel's stained glass panels had revealed their colors as the sun rose, and now the plain windows lining the corridor sparkled.

He looked at Hannah holding the flowers, her lips forming a concerned pout, and what came out of his mouth was, "What are you doing here? Don't you have to work?"

"It's Saturday, remember?" She tried to smile, but her eyes flickered doubtfully. "So… Angela was pretty mad, huh?"

Booth said nothing.

Whatever Hannah saw on his face, it made her fidget with the flowers, sounding defensive. "I just sat with her for a minute in the waiting room, and she told me about what happened. All I said was that I felt guilty, that the timing was so bad with that phone call…"

Booth felt his muscles knotting up, the bit of calm he'd found in the chapel now long gone.

"But we didn't have any reason to think it was serious, so we…"

"Not _serious_?"

"Seeley—"

"Don't tell me it's _not serious_! When you're the one—God, why did you stop me from answering? I always let you get your phone, when it rings at four fucking o'clock, so you can go fawn over the President or have breakfast with some bureaucrat—and no one's _life _is at stake!"

Hannah's mouth opened in shock, but she found her voice. "This is not _my _fault! I'm really sorry it happened, and I'm sorry if you're blaming yourself, or blaming Temperance for taking that risk. But it was hers to take. Because I've been in a lot of dangerous situations, and I know that every time, _I_ was the one who chose to go in there."

"Don't you blame her for this! It's not the same at all."

"No, I think it is. Seeley, I know you might feel responsible, but Temperance is a smart lady. Either she had her reasons that we don't know about, or else she just messed up, and should've done something other than—"

"She saved a girl's life! How could she have _done other _than that? This is what we _do_, Hannah, remember? Bones and I are partners, but you've just been—you're a distraction to me! Pulling me out to dinner, meeting for lunch dates that are really just sex—it's taking me away from her, and the squints, and the real work I'm supposed to be doing!"

Hannah stared at him, her lips pursing the way they did when she was angry or hurt. "Well, I should let you get back to them, if I'm so distracting."

She turned and stalked off down the corridor.

Booth watched her go, feeling suddenly bereft.

He was standing in a sterile white hallway. It was seven-thirty in the morning, and he was running on two hours of sleep. Bones was unconscious after major surgery, and Angela wasn't speaking to him.

He couldn't lose Hannah, too.

"Wait," he said. "Please."

He ran after her, reaching for her arm. "Hannah, I'm sorry. I'm not…"

She stood there, waiting, and he forced up some gravelly words. "I'm being an idiot. You're right. I wasn't… I could have answered my phone, if…"

He couldn't go on, but Hannah's face softened. "Okay. It's not like I wrestled you to the ground and tied you up. Although…" The edge of her mouth curved. "That's not a bad idea, huh?"

Booth felt relief that he was forgiven. But he couldn't smile back.

"Why don't we get some breakfast," she suggested, "and then go to the ICU and see what they'll tell us."

Booth let her take his arm as they started down the hallway. He recalled the tempting half-smile she'd just given him. Did I, he wondered, used to think that was hot?

-.-.-.-.-.

Cam had just arrived back at the hospital and was heading down a corridor when someone behind her called, "Dr. Saroyan?"

She turned to see Hannah. "Oh, hello—"

"Thank God." Hannah reached for her arm. "Will you go check on Seeley? He's in the cafeteria—at least I hope he's still there. I have to go. Something came up at work, but I wanted to—"

"Whoa, slow down. Is he okay? Are _you _okay?"

Hannah let out her breath. "I don't know. Maybe I did something wrong. He kept mumbling about taking risks and 'I'm the gambler.' But you've known him for a long time, right? I don't think he wants—I can't stay, I'm sorry. I'll call him." And with that, she turned and fled down the hall.

-.-.-.-.

Cam found Booth in a corner of the cafeteria. He was leaning forward in one of the plastic chairs, staring at the floor. The table in front of him held an odd assortment of items: two food trays with leftover plates and napkins, but also a deck of cards and an open pack of M&Ms. Some of the cards and candy were arranged in neat rows, while the rest were scattered haphazardly across the table and onto the floor.

Booth held a few cards in his hand, as though he'd started to collect them from the floor, but had given up for lack of energy.

Cam said, "Tough day at the casino?"

He glanced up, and grimaced. Cam pulled out a chair next to him and sat down.

"Hannah went home?" he grunted.

"Yeah."

Now he gave a humorless laugh. "I scared her off."

Cam glanced over the table again. She could see him, in a fit of rage or despair, suddenly sweep half the cards onto the floor, while Hannah recoiled in shock.

"So," she said. "Let me reconstruct the chain of events here. You two came in to eat breakfast… and then she suggested you play poker for M&Ms, to pass the time before ICU visiting hours?"

Booth nodded. He remained hunched over, but flicked his eyes toward her. They were red-rimmed. "Why won't they let us see her, Cam? Is it because… Is Bones in such bad shape that—?"

"Hey." She reached out to cover his hand with hers. "Being in the ICU is not a terrible thing. Patients get better faster, because they have round-the-clock care. It's actually a good sign they're not letting us see her. It means she's doing well and they want to keep her nice and quiet so she can start to recover. It's only when people are circling the drain that visiting hours get more lenient."

Booth looked relieved, until her last sentence. "Way to be comforting there, Camille."

"Don't call me Camille, Seeley."

She waited. His voice was weak, but he didn't disappoint. "Don't call me Seeley."

They sat in silence for a minute. Cam listened to the sounds of people eating breakfast around them: the low conversations, the clatter of trays and silverware.

Finally she said, "Come on, big man. Talk to me. I take it Hannah doesn't know about your ex-gambler status?"

"No. She doesn't know."

Booth had one elbow resting on the table, his hand up by his face, and it looked like he was about to start gnawing his thumb with edgy irritation.

But he responded with a wry glance. "Relax, Cam. It's just M&Ms. I'm not going to have some relapse from trying to win candy. But…" His voice softened. "Bones knew. Right from the start. I told her, when I'd barely known her a week." Cam saw the ghost of a smile turning up his mouth, but there was longing there, too. "Because I felt like… maybe it was going somewhere, you know?"

She nodded, although she wasn't quite following the change of topics.

"And now Hannah's taking some assignment in L.A. Leaving Monday. Last-minute offer from her boss. She was going to tell me earlier but… We had dinner reservations, and then… Then I got the phone call."

Cam felt a flash of anger. Hannah's leaving him _now_? When's he's this upset, and needs all the friends he can get? She's supposed to be a fearless journalist. They met in a war zone, for God's sake. But I bet she's never seen his dark, brooding side. He didn't _let _her see it, until today. And now she's scared.

_I_ was never scared. Well—not much. And neither is Brennan.

Booth was still mumbling about Hannah. "Might result in a longer project, she said. Really good for her career. She was sorry the timing was so bad right now, with Bones, but if she didn't take the assignment, someone else would."

He gave a mirthless laugh. "Timing. I can't believe all the shitty timing in my life. Like that first case, with Jemma Arrington's murder. Bones and I were working together, and I would've asked her out, except for FBI protocol… But then Caroline made me fire her, so we got drunk and we were going to… but she took a cab home instead. And they hired the squints back, and we lost our chance. We lost it then, and lost it a lot of times since then. Because she's the scientist. I'm the gambler. We're not…"

"Seeley," Cam began, but he didn't stop.

"Bones gambled in Vegas when we were undercover, did you know that? She was great. I mean, when she wasn't cheating. She was all made up like Roxy, with that _dress_, and those eyes… Before my fight, she even said, 'Don't jinx it.' After hearing the 'crap dealer' say it, she kind of believed it. And she bet on me, and I only won the fight because of her…"

"_Seeley_." Cam had to snap him out of the spiral he was in.

This time, he looked at her.

Cam studied his guilt-stricken eyes. There were a lot of things she could have said. But the one she chose was gentle accusation. "I don't think your phone was on the fritz last night, was it?"

His voice was barely audible. "I don't know if I deserve to be her partner anymore."

Cam touched his arm again. "You let Brennan decide about that. I think you both deserve another chance. Now, come on. We'll go up to the ICU, but first…" She stood, grabbing an empty M&M wrapper. "You're helping me clean up this mess."


	7. The ICU

**A/N: **Thank you to Skole for the medical information on which this part was based, and to la mome for the wonderfully detailed beta comments.

**Part 7**

Booth sat in yet another visitors' lounge, waiting for his turn to see Bones.

Max and Russ had gone in first, then Angela. When the two men had come out, Russ had given him a hard stare. Booth forced himself to meet it, and see what was written there: anger, outrage, grief. But before Russ could say anything, Max put an arm around his shoulders.

"Come on, son."

"No, Dad, I want to know—"

"It's okay. Let's go call Amy, and then we'll come back."

"But…" Russ shook his head, letting Max guide him out of the waiting room. As they started down the hall speaking in undertones, Russ blurted out, "My baby sister!"

Booth could understand that protection, and that helplessness.

A few chairs down, Hodgins sat waiting for Angela. He hadn't said much to Booth, who got the sense he might have been sympathetic, but wasn't willing to countermand Angela's opinion.

Now Booth looked up to see Cam standing there. Had she been waiting with him this whole time?

She took his arm and drew him out into the hall. Standing under a sign that pointed the way to different floors, she said, "I don't think you heard this the first time. Maybe you were in the chapel. But I wanted to let you know what to expect when you go in there."

Booth's heartbeat slowed down, then sped up.

Cam kept a good grip on his arm, and he thought, I must look like a frail old man, the way everyone's been leading me around.

"Remember what the surgeon said? They didn't close the incision right away. They covered it with a dressing, of course. But they won't stitch it up until they've monitored her in the ICU for a day or so, to keep a close watch on every physiological marker."

_Won't stitch it up_, Booth's mind echoed.

"They leave it open for two reasons. There's a lot of swelling, both inside and out, during any major abdominal surgery. And then, a lot of times with liver injuries, it's hard to stop the bleeding. The surgeon does the repairs, and cauterizes, sutures, ties things off… But in this case, they had to apply direct pressure, too, using wet gauze packs. Those are left inside, tightly packed around the liver. Everything's sealed with a sterile plastic dressing, until they go back to the O.R. to complete the procedure.

"This means…" Cam was staring intently at him. "This means that patients with open, packed abdomens… that she's going to look pregnant. Like, five or six months."

Booth nodded, to show that he'd heard. _Gauze packs. Swelling. _"Okay," he said. But Cam kept watching him.

Apparently she had nothing else to say, because she led him back into the waiting room.

He sat there, numb, until it was his turn.

Some minutes later, Angela emerged from the corridor. She came out in tears, and walked straight into Hodgins' arms without a glance at Booth.

Cam was asking if he wanted her to go with him, but he shook his head. He walked down the hallway alone. Past numbered doors. People in scrubs. More doors.

This one. Bones' ICU room. Booth just stared at it for a second. Then, feeling like he was made of some fragile substance, he went inside.

A nurse stood by the foot of the bed, writing on a chart.

Bones lay there, swarmed by a profusion of tubes and wires.

There was an IV in her arm. A tube in her mouth, secured with white tape on her cheek. Wires, disappearing under the blue and white hospital gown, connected to electrodes on her chest.

And Cam was right. Her belly looked rounded, under the blanket.

The bed was raised at a slight angle, and Booth half remembered the explanation: something to do with the ventilator and preventing complications from the breathing tube.

Bulky instruments sat next to the bed, their readouts flashing. There was a chair there too, but Booth found himself afraid to intrude, afraid to claim his spot. He glanced at the nurse on duty, who gave him an encouraging look. Cautiously, he moved closer.

Bones, unconscious. Her mouth slightly open, because of the tube. Her dark hair spread on the pillow, bangs parted haphazardly and half covering her forehead. Booth wanted to think she was sleeping, but that was wrong. He hadn't seen her sleep very often. On her office couch, in cars or airplanes when they traveled. Then, she looked healthy, relaxed. He knew he could wake her with a word or a touch. But here… There was no spark. No flicker of dreams or hidden emotion. Booth refused to think that Bones was _gone_, because that sounded too much like death. But she was… submerged. By injury, by drugs.

Now he pulled the chair up to the bed and sank into it. He glanced at her wrist, encircled by a medical bracelet. On her other arm, the IV line was anchored with tape.

He took a breath, realizing that the hospital smells were more noticeable here. A bleach-like cleaner they must use on the floors. Clean linens and gauze. Alcohol or iodine for sterilizing skin. And the faint, coppery smell of blood.

Booth had to blink, now, to see through the tears. He looked at Brennan's still lashes and the pallor of her skin. She'd lost a lot of blood. Her lips had almost no color in them.

He leaned closer, nearly putting his elbows on the bed. There were tiny scratches on the side of her face, and he thought of Hacker's description: _she just keeled over_. There must've been something abrasive on the barn floor.

And no one there to catch her. No one to hold her hand but Hacker and his Bureau grunts.

"_You're going to make me fall!" Bones was laughing, as they glided around a sparkling ice rink in the middle of the night. Booth held her hand, towing her behind him._

"_I'm never going to let you fall."_

He looked at Brennan's hand now, and covered his face to wipe at tears. The blankets were pulled up over her enlarged waist, her arms resting on either side.

_In their office at the nightclub, she sat across his lap, wonderfully warm and heavy. He touched her still-flat belly, and she slid her arms around his neck._

The ICU nurse appeared in Booth's line of vision, checking something with the IV on the other side of the bed.

He brushed the back of Bones' hand, tentatively. He realized the nurse was watching him, and suddenly had to make sure he wasn't trespassing. "Can I…" His voice was hoarse. "Can I touch her?"

She gave a kind smile. "Just be careful of the wires."

Booth nodded. His throat was closing up, but he slid his hand into Brennan's. Her skin felt cool, her hand totally limp. He gave a little squeeze, watching her face. Of course, there was no response.

_Please, Bones. Please know I'm here. _

Gently, he lifted her hand, easing his other one under, so he held her hand in both of his.

_I wasn't there before. But I'm here now._

Booth looked at the faint scratches on her cheek, the only outward sign of injury, aside from the rounded belly. He thought of all the punctures in her skin, just from the past two days. The bullet. The surgery. An IV in her arm. Another needle in her leg, for the angiogram.

Her right side, he realized. That's where all her injuries are. Ones she got over the years, working with me.

The gunshot in her arm, during a hostage standoff with that sheriff. There, where her bicep met her shoulder—Booth couldn't see the mark, hidden by a blood pressure cuff. But he knew it was there.

He stroked her hand, looking at the top of her forearm. Marring the creamy skin, a puckered scar from when the Harbinger doctor stabbed her.

Now, this wound. The worst one, that nicked a rib and tore her liver. Hidden by snowy blankets and gauze. Booth didn't know what that scar would look like. Maybe he would never know.

At the Harbinger doctor's clinic, he'd barely gotten there in time. But he'd kicked in the door and shot the man dead. Then dropped to the floor with Bones, holding her tightly. The only time she'd done something irrational: pulling out the scalpel. It had been a deep cut. Booth could still feel her blood dripping down his hand. Still feel her shaking. Still smell her hair when he'd kissed it.

Now he held her motionless hand, and cried.

_I'm right here. I've got you, baby._


	8. Need

**A/N: **The poem quoted here is "Need the Speed" by Leonard Cohen.

Thank you to Skole for more medical background, which Cam summarizes; and to la mome, my loyal fan/friend, for a beta read.

**Part 8**

Booth stayed at Brennan's side as long as he could.

He stayed through visiting hours on Saturday, until the nurses chased him out. He returned on Sunday, but for a shorter visit, because the doctors deemed her stable enough for a second operation.

Cam had explained the next steps. Surgeons would remove the gauze packs, check for any damage they might've missed, put in a few drains for good measure, and close the incision. Bones would return to the ICU later today, and Booth could visit her again.

The last two days had gone by in a blur. When he felt capable of thinking past the shock, he spent a good deal of time on the phone with Hacker. Because Booth wanted all the loose ends tied up, to make absolutely sure that Dawes hadn't had an accomplice. Booth sent other agents to check every detail, and he listened to Hacker's reports from the crime scene. The forensics team's findings reinforced what Brennan's squints had claimed, and Ingrid's statements filled in the missing pieces of the story.

In between phone calls, Booth had eaten a couple lousy cafeteria meals, and accepted something homemade from Cam. He left short messages for Hannah. He talked to Parker, who wanted to see Bones in the hospital, and to Caroline, who was sending an elaborate flower arrangement. He even talked to Brennan's frantic publisher, who'd heard rumors that she'd died. Through it all he managed to avoid outright lies about his absence.

Angela was still not speaking to him, but her icy exterior thawed a little, when she saw how much time he was spending at the hospital. He still hadn't gone home, and had only relinquished his bedside vigil when Angela or Max wanted to sit with Brennan alone.

Saturday night, Booth dozed fitfully on the waiting room sofa. Cam had badgered him about going to the nearby hotel, to stretch out on an actual bed. But he couldn't. Even if Bones was unconscious and wouldn't know the difference, he would not leave. He would not be away from her again.

-.-.-.-.

It was about noon on Sunday when his lack of sleep finally caught up to him, and he crashed on the waiting room couch.

Booth spread out on his back and tried to ignore the sounds of nurses hurrying past, or doctors being paged over the intercom. He draped part of his jacket over his head, to block the fluorescent lights, and the sun coming through the window. The couch was too short and the cushions sagged in the middle. But it wasn't long before he nodded off.

Dreaming, he knew he was in a hospital. But he was confused about why.

He sat next to Brennan while the doctors lectured. _Brain tumor_. _Neurosurgery. No time to spare. _She asked questions and explained things to him. She kept her hand on his arm the whole time.

But he didn't know if she was Bones, his partner, or Bren, his wife.

They leaned on the railing, watching the dancers. Nightclub music pulsed beneath them.

Early morning, she slid half-clothed into bed. He reached out to stroke her hair, seeing her smile, then he was tumbling her over, dipping his head to suck the curve of her neck. Their eager fingers peeled away her clothing.

He was driving around town in that fast silver car, with Bren beside him. He accelerated away from a stoplight, making the engine growl, and she grinned at him. _We are a very exciting couple. _She reached over to caress the back of his neck.

.

need the speed

need the wine

need the pleasure

in my spine

.

need your hand

to pull me out

need your juices

on my snout

.

need to see

I never saw

your need for me

your longing raw

.

need to hear

I never heard

against my ear

your dirty word

.

need to have

you summon me

like moon above

the gathered sea

.

need to know

I never knew

the tidal tow-

ing come from you

.

need to feel

I never felt

your magnet pull-

ing at my self

.

_now it fades_

_now it's gone_

_hormonal rage_

_unquiet song_

.

Images of Bren—Bones—shifted past, and he couldn't grab one, he couldn't hold onto her. The dream was receding, but he tried to get it back.

He was in a hospital. Surgery for his brain tumor? No, not him. Brennan was seriously hurt; he'd sat next to her for hours. But she was pregnant—there were complications? She was bleeding, she needed a tube to breathe, and no one would tell him anything.

.

Booth woke with his heart thumping, his skin flushed, and his back in knots from the sofa.

He tried to take some deep breaths and remember his surroundings. There was that beige-painted wall and the fake plant under the window. Around the corner he could hear the receptionist answering a phone call.

He was here for Bones, his partner.

Booth sat up, wincing at the stiffness in his joints.

A few people waited on the far side of the lounge. They looked like a family, with a girl about Parker's age. Booth dropped his jacket into his lap, just in case. That dream had sent his blood rushing south, and the last thing he needed was to get thrown out for looking like a pervert.

I can't believe this, he thought. I have a hot dream about my partner while she's lying in intensive care. _Now_, when she's heading back to surgery. And after that embarrassing performance with Hannah the other night.

It was better to focus on something else. He leaned forward to stretch his lower back, thinking evil thoughts about this sofa. _You shouldn't sleep on that, Booth, _Brennan's voice said in his head._ Your lumbar vertebrae need a firm, supportive surface, and those cushions look grossly inadequate._

Booth scrubbed his hands over his face, prickly with beard stubble. He needed to hear her say that in person. Needed her damn logic and science.

He needed her clear blue eyes, and the hundred different inflections she could put into his name.

He needed her wicked smile when she knew she'd gotten under his skin. Needed her reserve, balanced with her trust.

He needed her to correct him when he was wrong, and find him when he was lost.

Right from the beginning, he knew.

He needed her lips under his, outside a bar in the rain. Needed her hips under his in their bed.

Bones was the one he needed.

.

Booth was startled out of his revelations by someone standing in front of him. Looking up, it took a split second before he recognized Hannah. He wasn't expecting her, and all he saw was a pretty blonde with long eyelashes.

"Seeley, are you all right?"

He blinked. "Yeah. Sorry." He stood up and hugged her out of habit. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, it didn't look like you were coming home anytime soon, so I brought you this." She was holding the small duffel bag he sometimes took to the gym.

"A change of clothes and your toothbrush."

He took it. "Oh, that's… really good of you to do. Thanks."

"How's Temperance?"

Booth opened his mouth, and stopped. _All I know is that I love her. _But he couldn't say that to Hannah, right here and now.

He collected himself enough to give a medical summary, while Hannah nodded seriously. There was something about her expression he couldn't put his finger on. Sadness, regret?

"Hey," he said gently. "I didn't mean to yell at you yesterday. And then at breakfast... The poker thing wasn't a bad idea, I was just…"

"It's okay. You're under a lot of stress. And I shouldn't have made a joke about sex. I just said the first thing I thought of, to try to make you smile. But it was a bad choice. Look," she changed the subject, "I have to get back, and then leave for the airport. Flying to L.A. tonight, so I can start interviewing on Monday…"

Booth knew she'd told him about this in the cafeteria. But he retained barely any memory about the type of assignment. It _had _seemed slightly less dangerous than some of the things she usually did.

He asked her where she would be staying, then said, "Sorry I can't drive you to the airport. But be careful out there, you hear?"

"What?" She smiled. "I'm always careful. And I'll call to check in a couple times. This shouldn't take more than a week, and then I'll be back. Oh, you'll make sure Temperance gets my flowers when she wakes up, okay?"

"Okay." Booth hesitated. "Listen, Hannah, when you get back… we should really talk."

Her smile faded. "Yeah. I sort of figured that."

-.-.-.-.

Once Hannah left, Booth couldn't sit still. The intensity of the dream had filled him with a restless, hopeful energy. Since it would still be some time before anyone could visit Bones again, he stashed his duffel bag behind the reception desk, pulled on his jacket and went outside.

It was a sunny Sunday afternoon. Booth needed more sleep, better food, and proper exercise. But he could take a few turns around the parking lot.

He found sidewalks running along two sides of the hospital, between clipped hedges and busy streets. Traffic roared and braked alongside him, while a cool breeze ruffled his hair. It wasn't nearly as cold as it had been two nights ago, when he'd stood outside shivering.

He hadn't known, then, if Bones would make it. Even now, she wasn't totally out of the woods.

_They've kept her nice and stable, _Cam had said, _so that's a good sign. The ICU is more a precaution, to monitor how patients respond to the shock of surgery. The best way to do that is to keep them asleep and attached to a ventilator. The nurses can closely watch every physiological parameter, from bleeding and clotting, to breathing, temperature, fluid status…_

_The idea is to keep all those things completely normal, because a big risk, after blood loss and surgery, is the body's inflammatory response. That can mean fever, high heart rate, abnormal white cell count… And if it really gets hold, it can drop the blood pressure, kick off multiple organ failures—well, it isn't pretty. I've heard it kills more people than actual injuries. _

Booth paused at a driveway, to let a few cars pull out of the parking lot. The cold air, and medical realities, cooled the ardor of his dream. Now he heard the wail of an approaching ambulance, and shuddered, to think of Bones arriving in one.

_The inflammation has stayed at acceptable levels, _Cam assured, _and she's not showing any sign of pneumonia, which is a big risk when someone's on a ventilator._

_Surgeons are going back to close the incision, but Brennan will still need careful monitoring for a few days. Then a step-down into the general ward… She'll be on some hefty medications, and will need a lot of help when she goes home, because full recovery takes four to six weeks._

The sidewalk Booth was following reached a dead-end, so he turned onto a side street that would take him parallel to the hospital.

Bones still faced a long recovery. And that was just the physical part.

What if something went wrong with the second surgery? Or, when she woke up… what if she rejected him?

Booth prayed she would not react as Angela had, with cold disdain. Brennan would have every right to look at him and say, _You weren't there. You're not my partner._

The dream he'd had… It reminded him what great partners they made, in every sense of the word. His feelings, finally, were clear. But not his actions.

Why hadn't he made a clean break of it with Hannah right away? He could claim it wasn't the time or place, or that he hadn't gotten his conscious mind around the dream.

But that would be a cover for the real reason.

Booth looked up as a car sped past him. There were no sidewalks, but the street was quiet, lined with trees and apartment buildings. Now he saw another set of hedges along the hospital's rear parking lot. He pushed between the branches and stepped onto the concrete, to walk the final side of the loop.

He realized he was afraid. Afraid to let Hannah go, because he might be left with no one. Hannah wasn't Bones. But she was funny and beautiful. She was someone to come home to, eat meals with, and warm his bed at night.

A little voice told him, _Bones isn't scared to be alone. _

She'd been on her own all those years before she met him, and through all the foreign countries where she'd dug up bodies. She was on her own two nights ago, when she went into an abandoned barn to face down a killer, alone.

The least he could do, now, was be true to his feelings. Because clinging to Hannah like a security blanket, or default option… that would be cowardly. So, he would let her down as gently as possible. And then, he would focus on Bones.

If the worst happened, and she felt betrayed… Booth would understand. But he would not give up. He would settle in for the long term: to regain her trust, and allow time for her to heal.

Because he needed her. He loved her.

He wanted to cry and laugh and announce it to the world.

_I'm hopeless, and I don't care. I surrender, to God, or Fate, or... Temperance. _

Walking across the yellow lines of the parking lot, he felt somehow lighter. Frightened, but free.

He would go back to the hospital. He would check on Bones, coming out of surgery. Then… simply take it one step at a time.

Booth stopped to let a taxi coast by. It looked like any other city taxi. Like the one Bones had gotten into after the Gravedigger's trial. When she was about to run halfway across the globe, afraid of the intensity of her feelings. Afraid of hurting him, or being hurt, after he'd pushed her too abruptly toward romance.

When they'd first met, she'd pushed him right back. She'd kissed him and left him standing, giddy, in the rain, while she ran laughing to the cab.

"_We are not spending the night together!" _

"_Of course we are. Why?" His lips still tingled with the alcohol, and the taste of her._

"_Tequila." She closed the car door, but lowered the window as he ran up._

"_So you think that when I look at you in the morning, I'll have regrets?"_

_She laughed, sexy and sure. "That would never happen." And she grinned at him through the window, as the taxi pulled away through the dark, glittering rain._

Booth squinted in the sun, watching the empty taxi leave the lot. He put his hand on his chest, over his heart.

_I won't let her get away again. I love her, and I never stopped loving her. _

He loved Hannah, too, in a way. But it was puppy love. Infatuation, or convenience.

Not something that went so deep inside of him, he couldn't define it. Something with no sides and no floor, but _Temperance Brennan _emblazoned on every surface.

-.-.-.-.

**A/N: **This part has drained my creative energy. Please send comments to help replenish it!


	9. Medication, Mothers, and Max

**A/N: **Thanks to adangeli for reading part of this section, and to la mome for commenting on the original _and a _revision.

**Part 9**

Brennan floated in and out of consciousness.

Pain was the first sensation: too-bright lights in her eyes. There had been needles that stung and knives that sawed. There were pressures and proddings. Pain, penetrating deep inside her, and the welcome oblivion of drugs.

Time seemed to have passed, and faces looked down at her. Hands and instruments descended, to hurt or to help. Voices murmured; equipment beeped and clattered.

Now it was too bright again, behind her eyes. She could feel the mattress under her back, and blankets covering her.

People were holding each of her hands. On one side, softer, reassuring. On the other, stronger, and patient.

She twitched her fingers, and someone said, "Tempe?"

"Bones?"

She knew who they were, then, but it was a struggle to open her eyes. She squinted, trying to see against the blinding background.

A dark outline resolved itself into Booth. Unshaven. Smiling, but with worried eyes.

On the other side, her dad leaned down to kiss her cheek. "Hey, baby. The surgeon said you came through like a champ."

_Surgeon_. Yes, she'd been badly injured. She should ask questions, but couldn't think what they were. Her mouth felt fuzzy and dry. Her throat hurt, and she tasted blood.

Booth held her hand a little tighter. "Bones... You're going to be okay, do you hear?"

She did hear. But his voice sounded… she couldn't interpret it now. She was too tired.

She only needed to know essentials. _I'm in a hospital. Booth is safe, and Dad's right here. _She closed her eyes.

-.-.-.-.

She dreamed that she was home sick from school. Her mother sat on the side of the bed, stroking her hair back from her face. _Temperance_, she said, and the voice was so clear, so lovely, exactly as her memory knew it. But she couldn't hear the rest of what her mother said, and it was important.

Now someone was crying, at her bedside. Someone with dark hair. Her mother? She couldn't see her clearly. It was either too dark, or too bright. She tried to call out, but her throat was blocked and aching. _Mom? Where are you? Please don't go._

"Shh," someone said. "It's okay, Sweetie."

Brennan recognized that voice. Not her mother. But someone who loved her.

She slept.

-.-.-.-.

Angela sat at her best friend's bedside.

Brennan was back in the ICU, sleeping off the anesthesia. She would wake up periodically, but seemed very groggy and not too clear on what was happening. Since Angela, Max and Booth had agreed they wanted someone with her as long as visiting hours permitted, it was the artist's turn to stand vigil.

She perched on the uncomfortable chair, studying her friend. The nurse on duty moved about with quiet efficiency, running constant checks on readouts and gauges, and all the things attached to Brennan. At least there were a couple fewer of them this time. The scary breathing tube and machine were gone, but tubes and wires still crisscrossed over her. Including two drains attached to bags on her abdomen, which were filling with some nasty fluid (Angela didn't want details).

She was also afraid the drugs were giving Bren nightmares. A few minutes ago she'd been mumbling and tossing her head, until Angela soothed her. Now her face looked more peaceful, although pale and puffy after surgery.

Angela leaned closer, noticing tiny lines around her mouth, and at the inner edges of her eyebrows. Had she seen them before, or were they new? Perhaps they were hidden by her hair on an everyday basis. As long as they weren't lingering marks of pain, despite the medication.

Angela didn't know what to think about this new hair style. It was thick and dark, and Bren would look lovely in anything. But it made the artist want to smooth the bangs away from her face.

When she had done so a moment ago (careful of the oxygen tube under Bren's nose), her skin felt cool and clammy. Her hair was rather flat, too, probably from being covered with various kinds of surgical sheets, or from manhandling by the medical staff. Well, that's not fair, she told herself. It's not like they were making stylish hair a priority while they were saving her life.

She stroked her friend's hair back once more, tracing the lines of her brow and cheekbone. It's like Bren's been hiding behind that curtain of bangs. Hiding her true feelings, since she got back from Indonesia. I sort of wish she'd go back to the old style: the natural waves, and color she was born with.

The nurse stepped in, pulling the neck of the hospital gown back to readjust one of the electrodes. Angela found herself staring at Brennan's collarbone. Had she lost weight in Maluku? It was subtle, if so. Maybe she'd gained lean muscle, in her shoulders and legs. From all that hiking and digging and hauling, at the archeology sites. And… it might not be just physical definition. Maybe she'd defined what was important to her.

She would lose some of that fitness, now, with the long recovery. But she won't, Angela told herself, lose that tough Brennan backbone.

The nurse was moving the sheets to check one of the drains now, and Angela didn't watch too closely. But she knew Bren didn't look pregnant anymore. Since the surgeons had removed the gauze packs, the swelling was much less than it had been.

Angela touched her own belly, thinking, this kid had better grow up to choose the safest job in the world. Because I could never stand to see my baby in a hospital. How is Max enduring it? I can barely stand to see my best friend! I break down crying every time, and that's not just the hormones.

She realized her nose was running, although she'd managed to keep the waterworks to a minimum. Grabbing a tissue from the bedside table, she thought, I have to find Jack and tell him right now: we better keep this baby away from Booth and Brennan when they're cracking cases. Because as noble role models as they are, I do not want our child getting any dangerous ideas about crime solving, justice, and life saving.

If, that is… Angela slid her hand into Brennan's, settling herself more comfortably in her chair. If they resume their partnership. If I decide to forgive Booth, or to ever let Bren out of my sight again.

-.-.-.-.

Now that Angela was sitting with Bones, Max and Booth went back to the waiting room. There was an awkward moment when neither could decide what to do, but Booth said, "Hey, um… why don't I buy you a cup of coffee?"

"No way." Max held up his hands. "I've had too much already. Besides, Tempe has started telling me caffeine is bad, and I should drink _tea _instead."

Booth shook his head in sympathy. He wandered over to a chair and sat down. No sagging sofas in this room, just lumpy padded chairs.

Two people about Booth's age huddled at the other side of the room, by the nurses' station, and they talked in low tones about their mother's condition.

Max sat down too. He clapped Booth's back in a gentle way. "How're you holding up?"

Booth glanced at him. "I should be asking you that. But to be honest… I'm wondering why you haven't nailed my nuts to the wall."

Max looked amused, but then his features fell back into somber lines. "You forget, Booth. I know a thing or two about guilt. About not being there, to protect my family."

Booth had no answer to that.

"She reminds me so much of her mother sometimes." Max was staring across the waiting room, his voice soft. "The way she went charging in to save that poor girl… You know her mother was the one who decided we had to leave our kids, to keep them safe? So they both… they did the right thing. The hard thing: protecting that little girl, no matter how much pain it might cause. No matter if it killed her."

Booth let out his breath, thinking how close Bones had come to that.

They were quiet for a while, looking at the tabloid-like magazines on the coffee table. Some celebrity had gotten arrested, and the mug shot was plastered on the cover.

"I sort of hate to point this out," Booth said, "but you did break the law. That's why your family was in danger. But Bones… she goes out of her way to set things right."

Max was watching him. "Along with you."

Booth hunched his shoulders. "Usually."

"But not always? Because… you have this new girlfriend?"

Max didn't sound accusing. But Booth wanted to sink into the floor. "Yeah. I mean, no. She doesn't… It's over, but we haven't..."

"In other words, it's complicated?"

"Actually… no." Booth thought of the dream he'd had, and his walk around the hospital. "It's not, anymore. Now, it's very simple."

"I see." Max gave him a piercing look. "Does that mean my daughter is your first choice? Or have you been dragging around the hospital for two days purely out of guilt?"

Booth should've known he would cut right to the chase. "Bones… She's definitely first."

"Okay." His tone had turned rueful and dry. "I won't have to kill you. Because you're not the first man guilty of following his pecker to other pastures."

Booth jerked his head around, but Max shrugged and glanced away. "I did. I tried to move on, when my wife died. But my heart wasn't in it. The difference is…" This time, he met Booth's eyes. "I knew there was no going back. No second chances."

Booth nodded, swallowing hard.

"But I got a second chance with my kids. And you're partly to thank for that." His voice had gotten very rough. "It's just… When I think of all the times I wasn't there for my little girl… I wasn't there when she turned sixteen, and I wasn't there to be proud of her in school. Earning all those degrees, going on exotic digs, publishing a book..." He paused, and his voice hardened. "I wasn't there when the Gravedigger got her. But you were."

He put his hand on Booth's shoulder again, squeezing so hard it was like penance and comfort at the same time.

"I…" Booth's voice cracked, but he went on anyway. "She's glad you're here, Max. I know it took her a while, but she is."

The older man kept his grip on Booth's shoulder for another moment. Then he dropped his hands into his lap. "You know she'll have every right to freeze you out after this. And you have to respect that. But for what it's worth, I hope she doesn't. Because…" Max smiled a little. "You know that look she gets when she's doing something she really loves? Like when there are extremely old and fascinating bones to study?" He paused. "I've seen that light in her eyes when she's with you."

Booth felt his breath hitch hopefully in his throat.

"I know something happened," Max went on, "after she went to Indonesia. Or even before it. She didn't _tell _me—it's more what she doesn't say. But… I've had to take my time with her over the years, after my screw-ups as a father. And I told myself, you just work around it. You keep on trying."

Booth had to smile, crookedly. "_Keep on trying_?"

"Yeah." Max smiled back. "Like that good old song."

They sat in silence for a minute, listening to people passing in the corridor outside. An orderly wheeled some equipment past the door, on a cart with squeaky wheels.

Booth cleared his throat. "Thanks, Max." He nodded toward the ICU. "Thanks for letting me go in there."

Max shrugged. "Turns out I'm not a heartless old bastard, no matter what my record says. Besides, I have eyes. It wouldn't be right to keep you away."

Booth hesitated. "So, is all this your way of saying I have your blessing?"

"Don't push your luck, kid." He lowered his brows, but his eyes twinkled. "I don't think you need anyone's blessing, once you make up your mind about something."

"Maybe you're right." Booth reached for the man's hand, and shook it. "But I don't want to get on your bad side. You've got a pretty mean left hook."


	10. Awake

**A/N and Disclaimer: **In this section I incorporate parts of Sylvia Plath's poem "Tulips." I've condensed it somewhat, but without cues about what I've left out, so please look up the original. And please don't sue me (owners of Plath's estate). I make no money from this; in fact I spend a lot of time writing when I should be out earning money.

Thanks to my tireless reader la mome for giving this the once-over.

**Part 10 **

Brennan did not feel truly awake until Tuesday morning. She knew it was morning by the light coming through the window blinds to her left, and by the clock on the bedside table. But she had been in and out of consciousness so many times, she had no idea what day it was, until a nurse told her. The fact that so much time had passed without her knowledge should have been disturbing. But it wasn't.

_How are you feeling? _a nurse had asked. And Brennan realized, she didn't feel much of anything. Perhaps it was the medication. A doctor had appeared to give an overview of her condition, explaining that she had been in the ICU until recently. Although the synopsis was simple enough for a layperson, Brennan did not ask questions. She was too tired to hear details of her injury. (So she did feel something, after all.)

Another nurse had offered her ice chips to suck, and Brennan realized how thirsty she was. The cool water trickling down her throat was one of the best things she'd ever tasted.

After the nurse pointed out how to use the 'pain button,' Brennan was left alone with her thoughts, such as they were. It was still too early for visiting hours, so she gazed around the room. The walls were painted a pale blue and there was a TV mounted in one corner. A door to Brennan's right led to a bathroom, and its outside wall formed a short corridor to the main door.

There were also a lot of flowers. A few bouquets sat next to the bedside clock, and the rest clustered on a table under the TV. Brennan could see cards attached to some of them, but couldn't make out any of the writing.

She decided to occupy herself by identifying all the devices connected to her body. But that was not a very interesting diversion, because they fell into simple categories. Monitors for pulse and blood pressure. Tubes to let fluids and medications in, and waste fluids out. Her skin pinched and ached, where the tubes or needles pierced it. But it was something she could ignore.

Next she wondered who had sent which flowers, and in fact, what kind of flowers they were. Some were easy: daisies, tulips. But other bouquets were a riot of colors and shapes. Pretty, but they made Brennan's eyes hurt. So did the morning sunlight, angling through the blinds. It touched the vibrant reds and yellows of the tulips, heightening the textures and contrasts. The effort of focusing her eyes across the room… Brennan found it too exhausting. She would rather lie quietly, until sleep claimed her again.

.

_The tulips are too excitable, it is winter here._

_Look how white everything is, how quiet, how snowed-in._

_I am learning peacefulness, lying by myself quietly_

_As the light lies on these walls, this bed, these hands._

_._

_They have propped my head between the pillow and the sheet-cuff_

_Like an eye between two white lids that will not shut._

_Stupid pupil, it has to take everything in._

_The nurses pass and pass, they are no trouble,_

_They pass the way gulls pass inland in their white caps,_

_Doing things with their hands, one just the same as another,_

_So it is impossible to tell how many there are._

_._

_My body is a pebble to them, they tend it as water_

_Tends to the pebbles it must run over, smoothing them gently._

_They bring me numbness in their bright needles, they bring me sleep._

_They have swabbed me clear of my loving associations._

_._

_I didn't want any flowers, I only wanted_

_To lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty._

_How free it is, you have no idea how free—_

_The peacefulness is so big it dazes you,_

_And it asks nothing._

_._

_The tulips are too red in the first place, they hurt me._

_Their redness talks to my wound, it corresponds._

_They turn to me, and the window behind me_

_Where once a day the light slowly widens and slowly thins._

_Before they came the air was calm enough._

_Now they concentrate my attention, that was happy_

_Playing and resting without committing itself._

_._

_The tulips should be behind bars like dangerous animals;_

_They are opening like the mouth of some great African cat,_

_And I am aware of my heart: it opens and closes_

_Its bowl of red blooms out of sheer love of me._

_The water I taste is warm and salt, like the sea,_

_And comes from a country far away as health._

.

.

Brennan dozed on and off for several hours. The clock told her it was noon when one of the nurses breezed in, with Angela. The artist came into the room like a small whirlwind.

"Sweetie! I'm so glad you're awake. You're looking much better today."

Brennan thought to ask, _What did I look like before? _But Angela was leaning down to squeeze her shoulders, and chattering on about visiting hours_—_"I'm glad they're so much longer now you're out of the ICU"_—_and all the flowers people had sent. "They're beautiful, aren't they? But let's get some more light in here." She went to the window to open the blinds, making Brennan squint.

"Cam gave us all lots of time off work so we could stay with you," Angela continued, "and I don't think Booth's boss is giving him any trouble over it either. You know that he's hardly even left, Sweetie? Not once."

Brennan's mind felt sluggish, and she had trouble following what her friend was saying.

"Why don't I read you all the cards so you know who these are from?" Angela had hurried back across the room and reached for the nearest flower arrangement. "I read them to you yesterday but I don't think you were awake."

Brennan tried to pay attention as Angela read the messages. There was a pretty bouquet from Hannah and an elegant one from Cam. A pleasing but uninspiring one from Hacker. A rare plant from Hodgins and several Jeffersonian colleagues.

Angela chuckled as she picked up a bouquet of daisies. "These are from Sweets and _Daisy_."

Brennan watched her, wondering if Angela had been sleeping enough lately. She looked tired. And wasn't she being a little _too _cheerful? Brennan knew the artist had been here before, sitting with her. So had Booth and her father, and the presence of loved ones had been comforting. But now, it was a bit overwhelming. She had the nurses' impersonal care, and that was sufficient. She didn't need hugs and well-wishes. She didn't need people and noise.

Angela was pointing to a large, dramatic bouquet from Caroline. "This one says, _You don't do things by halves, do you, cherie? Get well soon, or I'm going to come over there and read you a very impressive speech about prudence and caution_.

"And this one is from your publisher…" Angela stood at the foot of the bed and read the concerned, cordial message. But then she paused, looking reluctant.

"What is it?" Brennan asked.

Angela smiled, but it seemed forced. "She couldn't help saying something about your popularity. _Your books are going to fly off the shelves once the media gets wind of this. Any chance you can work it into the plot of your next novel?_"

Brennan thought it was a fair question, but Angela was looking more and more upset. She threw the card down on the table. "I'm sorry," she exclaimed, "but that is completely inappropriate. You almost die, and all this woman can think about is more profits?"

Angela's eyes were watering. She went over to the bedside table, taking a Kleenex and blowing her nose. Is she allergic to the flowers, Brennan wondered, or…?

"Listen, Sweetie, how are you really feeling?"

A little surprised by the switch, Brennan considered. She should give her friend an honest answer; and in fact, the longer she was awake, the more physical sensations she became aware of.

"My ribs and abdomen are very tender, but as long as I lie still and don't breathe too hard, I'm fine."

Angela made a strangely muffled noise as she blew her nose, and Brennan realized she was trying not to cry. "Ange?" Helplessly, she reached out to touch her friend's arm.

Both her own arms had tubes taped to them, which hurt somewhat and restricted movement. Her gesture must have been the final straw, because Angela gave up trying to conceal her emotions. "This is just all hitting me at once," she sobbed. "It was somehow okay when you were still asleep and recovering, but…"

She jumped to her feet, balling up the Kleenex in her hand. Then she glanced around as if checking that the nurse had left for a moment.

"I am really angry at you. And at Booth." Her voice was a harsh whisper. "With all this stuff you do, catching bad guys—for _years _I have had to watch you running off, wondering what horrible things could happen this time. And _now_…"

Brennan saw the hurt and fire in her eyes, and thought, Angela does have a point. I took a big risk, going into that barn.

The memory was still so recent. It was more clear than the confused montage of hospital scenes. Part of her felt like she was still jouncing along the dirt road in her car, wondering what she would find. Then gripping her gun and creeping toward the barn door. Pushing inside, and trying to guess the killer's actions.

Angela shook her head, tears tracking down her face. "When are you going to get it into your head, Brennan? You could have _died_! Going in there alone… Do you have any idea how stupid and reckless that was?"

Brennan thought about trying to subdue Dawes without handcuffs or backup. She thought about how unprepared she'd been, for all of it. For shooting him properly the first time. For trying to free Ingrid, then comfort her with nothing but a hand and some inadequate words. She thought of trying to staunch her own wound, the blood seeping under her fingers, while she prayed the team would hurry.

"Yes," she told Angela. "I do know."

That made her friend's anger deflate, and she sat back in the chair. She looked so miserable that Brennan had to say something. "I'm sorry, Ange. I should have been able to… do better. Without getting myself hurt."

"Don't you apologize," Angela said fiercely. "Not for that. Maybe for being so damned brave and noble, but…"

Brennan was struck by a new anxiety, one she should have thought of long before. "What about Ingrid?" she interrupted. "Is she—?"

"She's okay." Angela sighed. "She's been back with her family since the weekend. There was barely a mark on her, physically. As for the other stuff, well… you saved her from the worst of it."

Angela might have said more, but at that point the door opened to admit Russ and Max. The artist got up quickly, wiping her tears, and smiled at them.

"We don't want to rush you," Max said.

"It's okay, I was just leaving." Angela collected her jacket, then leaned down to kiss Brennan on the cheek. She said, "I love you, Sweetie," before departing.

Brennan was still trying to make sense of her friend's mercurial moods, when Russ came over to hug her. She patted him in return, and was grateful for the bed's controls, that let her sit at a higher angle without engaging her abdominal muscles.

When her dad leaned down to kiss her, the first thing he said was, "How's my little hero?"

"Technically," she corrected, "it's 'heroine.'"

He chuckled. "Now I know you're going to be okay."

He and Russ took seats next to her, and began to talk about innocuous topics, in the same cheery tone Angela had used. But their expressions, like hers, were not fully in tune with their voices. It was the worry in their gaze, Brennan thought, and the depth of feeling. It was making _her _feel too much, too.

That sheen in Russ' eyes, like he was about to cry… he'd only ever looked that way twice. First, that Christmas Day when he'd brought out the presents, and she'd thought their parents had come back. And again when she'd given him his childhood marble, and hugged him for the first time in fifteen years.

Her dad, on the other hand… He had a patient, enduring quality about him. Something in the lines around his eyes told her, _I've been through a lot with my family. I can handle this, too._

Brennan leaned against the pillow, listening to their voices. Her chest ached and her incision throbbed dully. She wasn't numb anymore and she didn't like it.

Angela, Russ, Dad… They were all so tender, and it was overpowering her. Even if they were family, even if what she felt was love… It still hurt.

-.-.-.-.

**A/N: **I was sure Booth would appear in this chapter, but Angela had too much to say. He has to wait until next time.


	11. Stay

**A/N: **We pick up where the last chapter left off, now from Booth's POV.

Thank you, la mome, for commenting while at work!

**Part 11**

Booth waited his turn once more, to see Bones. This time he paced up and down the hall, trying to stay out of the staff's way.

Max and Russ were already there, but Angela had gone in first, and the three men lingered in the corridor. After a minute, Russ offered Booth a grudging handshake. He might have held Booth responsible, judging by the way he'd glared at him in the ICU. _If you'd have been there, _he seemed to say, _this wouldn't have happened. My little sister wouldn't have gotten shot. _But his anger hadn't lasted. Now he shook Booth's hand, surely recalling the times Booth had helped him, or Max, and the times he'd been there for Bones.

When Angela came out, Max and Russ went in. Booth expected Angela to brush past him, the way she'd been doing lately. Instead, she stopped. It looked like she'd been crying.

"I'm still mad at you," she said. "But we're both on the same side here. And I just feel…" She shook her head as though trying to find the right words. "I don't know what's going on with you and Hannah. But the thing is… Bren needs you. So you better not screw this up."

With that, Angela left him staring at the closed door of the hospital room. A part of him wanted to call after her, 'What exactly do you mean by _this_?'

But he was determined, anyway. _I won't screw things up. God help me, I won't. _

About ten minutes later, a nurse came out, and Booth used the excuse to move into the entrance. "You can go in in a minute," she told him. "But you'll have to keep it short. She's already had three visitors, and she needs to rest."

Booth hovered just inside the door. He couldn't see anything but the right corner of the room, with the TV and the many flowers. Then he heard chairs scraping as Russ and Max got up to leave, and he moved forward until he could see the whole room. The two men stood by the bed, blocking his view of Bones.

He'd seen her yesterday, of course. But this was the first time she'd really been awake. He knew she'd been aware of him when he sat with her before. She'd even responded when he talked to her. But her words were mumbled, and he doubted that she would remember what she'd said.

Russ was patting Brennan's arm now, and Max was speaking in a low, earnest tone. He leaned down to kiss her forehead, and then they both turned to go.

Max saw him a moment before Bones did, and the older man gave him one of those wry smiles. As he left, Max clapped Booth's arm and muttered something that sounded like, "Go easy on each other."

But Booth's only attention was for his partner. He saw that she'd raised the bed to a higher angle than before, and she still looked too pale, with faint shadows under her eyes. But that was all he had time to notice, because her gaze locked with his as soon as he came into view.

In that first second they looked at each other, he couldn't be sure what he saw on her face. Surprise, anger, relief?

_She needs to rest, _the nurse had said, and Booth knew it was true. She looked drained and defenseless. Inundated, by family, or feelings, or medication.

He'd had some notion of keeping his distance and not crowding her; of leaning casually in the doorway and saying, "Hey, Bones." But then her mouth trembled and her eyes filled with tears, and he couldn't have stayed away if he'd tried. He crossed the floor in three strides and reached out for her, at the same time she reached up to him.

Booth leaned down to hug her, sliding one leg onto the bed—carefully, so as not to jostle her. Her hands grabbed at him with surprising strength, pressing their way up his arm and shoulder as if reassuring herself that he was solid and real.

He couldn't hug her properly, couldn't get his arms around her without moving her, but he could still mold his arms along her shoulders, and touch her hair, and bow his head to settle his cheek against hers.

She started to cry in earnest when he touched her. And he wanted to cry too. Because of all the times he'd wanted to do this; after his days of waiting and worry, and their weeks of awkwardness since returning to the States… It all vanished before this sudden hunger that had seized both of them.

Bones held onto him, hard, her shoulders shaking. It was as if all her bravery in that barn, and all her stoicism for months before had caught up to her in that instant.

He was afraid, at first, that she would pull the IV tubes out of her arms, the way she was grappling for a better hold around his neck like a drowning victim. "Booth," she said, and her voice was hoarse with tears and with a dozen emotions he was almost afraid to name.

"Shh, Bones. I've got you."

Her arms relaxed a little, at his voice, but she couldn't stop crying. She turned her face against his, his unshaven cheek probably scratching her, and he felt her unsteady breath on his skin.

Too unsteady, in fact. Her muscles were tense with crying or trying not to cry, and the sudden pain was paralyzing her. Booth felt her wincing, trying to get her breath, because all those injured muscles in her torso couldn't handle the stress of crying.

He pulled back so he could see her face, and she was starting to panic that she couldn't get enough air. He thought of calling a nurse, but he put one palm alongside her face and murmured, "Slowly, Bones. Just breathe." She managed to take a few shallow breaths, her eyes still screwed shut with pain. Booth found himself inhaling in a calm, measured way, as if he could do it for her. "That's it, baby." He stroked her face. "You're okay now. I'm right here."

One of her hands found the back of his neck, and tears still trickled from her eyes while she fought to control her breathing. He kept mumbling to her, hardly thinking about the words. "It's gonna be all right. You're safe now. I'm not leaving."

She was breathing better, after a minute, although lines of pain still creased her forehead. But she pulled on the nape of his neck, to bring him closer to her again. He bent down so that his cheek could rest alongside hers, not caring that his back was twisted and his leg curled awkwardly under him on the mattress. He could smell the starched linen of the pillow, and the scent of her hair. Trying not to squish her, he framed her head and shoulders within his arms, squeezing gently, while her arms clung around his neck.

"I'm so sorry." He whispered it against her shoulder. "You were so brave, and I—"

"I'm sorry too. I should have… I didn't mean…"

"It's okay." His voice cracked, and he wasn't even sure what he was soothing or forgiving. "It's all over. I'm here now."

Her tears were slowing, and her grip on him had lost some of its strength. He was vaguely aware of voices in the hallway, and the sweet scent of flowers in the room.

Booth drew back a little, still bending over her, and her hands slid down to his biceps. Her eyes were closed, skin damp with tears. Then she wrinkled her nose and said, "You don't smell very nice."

He laughed, despite the tears in his own eyes. "Seriously, Bones? That's the first thing you say to me? You almost die saving someone's life—and those are the first words out of your mouth?"

"It's true," she insisted. But her eyes were looking too heavy for her to keep open.

"I know," he said softly, "okay? I haven't been home at all. Maybe one shower at the hotel, so… take me as I am." He meant it as a quip, but she didn't take it that way.

"I do," she murmured. "I always did." Just when he wanted to ask her what that meant, she forced her eyes open again. "Are you okay?" She regarded him with that concerned analysis he'd come to know over the years. "I mean… you weren't there. I thought something happened."

He felt a lump in his throat, because he knew just what she meant: the only reason he wouldn't have been at that barn was if something very serious had kept him away. "No, Bones," he said. "Nothing happened except me being an idiot." He made himself slide off the bed, away from her. "I should go now. You need to rest. I'll just…"

"Don't go." She reached for him, and even if she looked too exhausted to open her eyes, her hand found his with unerring aim. "Stay."

He gripped her fingers, glancing up as the nurse walked in. She'd heard their last words, and Booth looked to her for permission. He only did so out of politeness, however. Nothing in the world could have gotten him to leave after what Bones had said. The nurse gave him a nod, then went to close the blinds so the afternoon sun wouldn't disturb Brennan's sleep.

Keeping his grip on her hand, Booth settled into a chair. A bit of medical tape across the inside of her elbow had pulled free, but at least she hadn't detached any of the IVs. Carefully he smoothed the tape down so it adhered to her skin. And he promised her what he'd been telling himself for three days.

"I'm not going anywhere, Bones. I'll stay."

-.-.-.-.

**A/N: **All is not resolved. Can I add a bit more angst without drawing things out unnaturally? Remember, Hannah is still technically in the picture, and Brennan is (or thinks she is) being affected by serious medication.


	12. Simple

**A/N: **Thanks to my beta la mome, who isn't even an obsessed fan, but is doing this out of the goodness of her heart.

**Part 12**

Angela came into Brennan's room on Thursday evening to find Daisy sitting at the bedside, reading from an anthropology journal.

"_We applied a method for studying bony aspects of fibro-cartilaginous entheses on a large sample of known age, sex, and occupation. Our purpose is to present results of this application, focusing on enthesopathies of the upper limb."_

Brennan was looking toward the window and streetlights without seeing them. She and Daisy wore almost identical expressions of concentration that Angela had seen in the lab, and she couldn't help smiling as she came forward.

When they both looked up to greet her, she said to Brennan, "So now you've hired interns to read you anthropological bedtime stories?"

Daisy beamed. "Dr. Brennan appreciates my clarity and precision in reading aloud. Although sometimes I get excited by the research and go too fast."

"I think that's enough for tonight," Brennan told her.

"Oh, are you sure? Because we only got to the abstract of the second article. Well, all right." Daisy stood up and put the journal on the bedside table. "I'll leave this for you. And I could come back at the same time tomorrow, if you want me to."

"Yes, thank you, Ms Wick."

The intern smiled and bobbed her head, then departed. As the door closed behind her, Angela saw Brennan reach for the pain button next to the bed, clicking it to release a dose of drugs into her system.

Angela sat down in the empty chair and said, "Now _that's _the way to deal with Daisy. I could handle her a lot better if I had my own personal pain button. On second thought, we should connect one of these to _her_. I bet she'd be a lot more mellow if we got some narcotics into her."

Brennan didn't look amused, but pointed out, "Its proper name is PCA, for patient-controlled analgesic. As for reading, Ms Wick is one of the few people I can trust not to stumble over phrases like _fibro-cartilaginous entheses_. I am capable of reading the articles myself, but…" She shook her head. "It's strange, because I find that I can understand the text better if someone reads it. That wouldn't make sense unless I'd suffered a brain injury, and there were some discrepancy between the visual and auditory processing centers. But my eyes also fatigue easily, or I get a headache if I read to myself. Maybe it's a rare side effect of the medication…"

She glanced up as if realizing she'd been rambling. "But Daisy's not the reason I need more pain management. The nurses had me up walking around again, even if it was only for a brief period. It's rather daunting how difficult that was, and how much recovery I need."

Angela reached out and patted her arm. "That's to be expected, right, honey? You were hurt really badly. And it hasn't even been a week yet."

"I know." She sighed. "I understand the healing process, but that doesn't mean I have to be patient about it." Then she smiled grimly. "I got a few steps farther this time. It wasn't any easier, I was just more determined."

Angela felt she should praise, rather than caution. "That's my Brennan. I bet you'll be healed in no time, just from force of will."

"Too bad it doesn't really work like that. But I might be able to leave a few days early, if I hire someone from a home nursing service to help me. My dad's looking into it."

Angela nodded. "But he can stay with you, right? Or I could, of course."

"Thank you, Ange, but it's too big a commitment. And you're not trained to change dressings or help with bathing…"

"And maybe you don't want me there, because I'm still puking my guts out every other morning."

"That should be getting better as you move past the first trimester. Have you tried any of the teas or recipes I gave you?"

"Oh, I love the mint tea. It works wonders."

Brennan nodded, but then grimaced and put one hand over her right side. Seeing Angela's frown, she explained. "The incision is starting to itch, which is supposed to be a good sign, yet it hurts too much to actually scratch it."

"Does it look really bad? Are you going to have a horrible scar?"

"To be honest, I haven't wanted to see. The nurse said it looks like a shark bite."

"Ugh, that's a beautiful image." Angela searched for a new topic. "So, Booth finally went home?"

"Yes. He's been calling at regular intervals, but he missed two days of work and didn't think he should miss any more. Besides, there was follow-up to do with… the current case."

Angela got the idea that she didn't know how to refer to the whole business: of Dawes, the kidnapper and shooter, or Ingrid, the young victim Brennan had saved.

Then Brennan's tone changed and she asked, "Do you know when Hannah's coming back from her assignment?"

"Um, this weekend, maybe. Or early next week." But Angela was not thinking about Hannah. She was looking at the stiff, polite mask that had come down over Brennan's face. It was a mask she recognized all too well from previous months.

She longed to crack it, and force Brennan's true feelings out into the open. And she had tried, gently, in the past. But she wouldn't try now. Not when Bren was literally injured. She wouldn't push on new or old wounds to make them bleed, and get her friend to admit something she wasn't willing to admit.

Angela didn't need to think what to say next, because Brennan asked another question. She wanted to know what was happening at the Jeffersonian.

Gratefully, Angela launched into the latest gossip. She realized, however, that dishing about who was dating whom wouldn't be a priority, so she turned her discussion to the actual work their colleagues were doing.

Brennan seemed interested, and asked a few science questions. But Angela thought that ever since the Hannah comment, she had more tension in her body. Her jaw seemed tight, and her hands fidgeted with the blanket or the bed controls.

Angela kept talking, cheerfully, while keeping a close eye on her friend. Pausing her chatter, she poured them each a glass of water from the pitcher next to the bed. Bren drank hers, and then sighed in a surrendering kind of way. She reached for the pain button and pushed it.

Angela glanced at the clock; it had only been twenty minutes since the last time. She watched Brennan's posture slowly relax, the lines smoothing from her face.

Brennan noticed her observation. "Sorry, Ange. I think I need to sleep for a while."

The artist was tempted to challenge her about the pain button, but opted for gentleness instead. "Just for a while? You might as well turn in for the night, if you're tired."

"I can't sleep for more than a couple hours." Brennan said it in a straightforward manner, but Angela could hear frustration and exhaustion, too. "Between the lights, the nurses, and the beeping of automatic monitoring machines…" She waved at the devices next to the bed. "It's hard to get any uninterrupted sleep."

"Well… will you sleep better if I stay or go? I mean, I have some trashy magazines to read…" Angela indicated the bag she'd brought, "so I'm good for another couple hours."

Bren hesitated, then said, "It would be nice if you stayed. And if I'm awake later, maybe you could read me something."

"A trashy magazine? Or a cerebral journal article?"

"Either one." Bren smiled, although her eyes were starting to close. She lay quiet for a moment, then asked, "Did Booth say when he would visit again?"

She didn't sound eager, Angela thought. She only sounded tired. And wary. "I don't know, but I'm sure—"

"Tell him he doesn't have to. He's probably feeling guilty. But he shouldn't. I made the choice. I took the consequences."

Angela wasn't sure if the drugs were causing Bren to let her guard down and babble, but she still wanted to ask, _What choice, exactly? To go into that barn? Or to leave for Indonesia?_

But instead of questioning, she reassured. "Sweetie, I'm sure Booth's not acting solely out of guilt. And I know things are a little complicated between you right now, but—"

"No, Ange." Bren's eyes opened, and her gaze was both clear and clouded. "It's very simple. We broke each other's hearts."

Angela stared at her. In another situation, she might have been able to tease, _My rational Brennan, talking about broken hearts?_ _Wow, honey, I guess those drugs are doing more of a number on you than we thought. _

Angela couldn't joke this time. But she was spared a response, because her friend's eyes had closed again.

Angela watched her for a moment. Bren's chest rose and fell with slow, steady breathing. And she didn't look quite so pale anymore. When Angela leaned down to kiss her cheek, she saw faint freckles on Brennan's nose, from the last time she'd been out in the sun.

-.-.-.-.

**A/N: **I borrowed the description "like a shark bite" from a blog by John Finch called "Liver Resection—A diary of recovery."

Terms I learned for this chapter: An enthesis is the area where a tendon or ligament attaches to a bone, and enthesopathy refers to any pathological change in this region. In other words, a stress marker.

My source is: "Enthesopathies as Occupational Stress Markers: Evidence From the Upper Limb" by Villotte et al. _American Journal of Physical Anthropology _142:224-234 (2010).


	13. Subjective

**A/N: **This was a challenge to write. I had to work more hours this week, and after the last chapters, I wasn't sure what needed to happen next or from whose POV. But you can't go wrong with more Brennan, right?

Many thanks to jsq for reassuring me about B/B turmoil, more of which will appear later. Thank you to la mome for reading a bit of this, and to Skole for an old email that I paraphrase, when the doctor talks to Brennan and her dad.

**Part 13**

It was late in the morning on Friday. Brennan sat propped up in bed, gazing around the hospital room. This was the dull period between morning and afternoon activities, in the routine that had developed since she'd been released from the ICU.

Today had been relatively typical thus far. She had slept only sporadically overnight, enduring the usual checks by nurses and the beeping of equipment. When it was officially morning, she exchanged pleasantries with medical staff, then asked and answered questions from one of her doctors. Next she tested her strength by getting up, with a therapist's help, to walk slowly and stiffly down the hall. It left her aching and exhausted. So she gave herself a dose of painkillers as soon as she was back in bed, and napped for a couple hours. Upon waking, she'd needed a nurse to help her to the bathroom. While she should have been glad the catheter had been removed, it meant facing the periodic challenge of getting up to urinate.

The visiting doctors asked about her other bodily functions, as an indicator of when she'd be allowed solid food, and when she might go home. She'd mentioned this to Booth, among other things she'd discussed with doctors; and he had stopped her, sounding embarrassed. She could have predicted it, given Booth's aversion to anything excrement-related, but he hadn't changed the subject.

"I've been in a few hospitals, Bones. An Army buddy of mine had a name for that rule. _No shit, no shoes_."

"What?"

"You know, they won't give you your shoes to go home unless all your… innards… start working again."

"Oh. Well, that's crude but accurate."

"Just don't give me any updates on that front, okay, Bones?"

Booth had been calling twice a day. Sometimes she'd missed him, if she was up walking, or getting a precautionary scan. Once he'd interrupted her sleep, and he'd sounded very apologetic, hanging up quickly. But she hadn't heard from him yet today.

Now she looked at the bouquets of flowers around the room. When she was left alone like this, she had little to do but count the days and measure her recovery. She did so through subjective and objective means.

The flowers were one way to mark time: when they needed to be watered, and how they responded to the sunlight. The tulips would open and close as the light changed over the course of the day. It was a less a objective measure than the digital clock by the bed, but it was more interesting to watch.

Brennan could also note how far she was able to walk each time. Today she might make a second attempt, because she had done well enough this morning. On worse days, she kept her eyes on the floor to count the tiles, listening to the therapist's patient encouragement. But on better days she held her chin up and watched for the landmarks: nurses' desk, waiting room, elevators.

She was grateful to Angela for dropping off some clothing and personal items from her apartment. Now she dressed in yoga pants with the hospital gown, which made her feel at least partly put-together when she ventured outside her room.

The removal of apparatus from her body was another way to mark time. The catheter had been removed the previous day, as had the tubes in her abdomen. Fluid still drained from the site, however, so the nurses had covered it with a bag taped to her skin. IV tubes were still affixed to her arms, for injections and sustenance, but she might be allowed real food the next day.

She also talked with medical staff about her treatment and recovery. At first she'd been too groggy and ridden with pain to consider it. And she'd feared that hearing the details would make those sensations worse. But in fact, talking science made her feel better. She could be clinical and distance herself.

"I'm glad to see you've got your scientific curiosity back," her dad had said. He'd walked in while she and a surgeon discussed the type of damage to her liver, and the drugs she'd been given when she first arrived.

"You were treated with factor VII," the doctor said, "which helps stop bleeding by replacing a clotting factor. Liver injuries bleed a lot, and any serious wound causes the loss of clotting factors along with blood. We have twelve of those natural factors floating around in circulation, and the clotting mechanisms are held in a very delicate balance, so if you throw out one or two…"

"The whole thing goes to hell in a hand basket," Max put in.

Brennan asked about risk to her spleen, because the surgeon had said something about a blood clot, along with damage to the hepatic vein. "Don't worry, honey," her dad said. "You still have your spleen."

"The angiogram revealed a clot that was restricting blood flow to the spleen," the doctor explained. "We were pretty worried for a while, thinking it might have to be sacrificed. But we were able to repair the injury and restore blood flow. Because, as we like to say, the hepatic portal vein is the highway that runs through the liver to a little town called Spleenville." Max and the surgeon had chuckled over that.

Now Brennan glanced around her empty hospital room, thinking about x-rays, and the bullet scar on her rib. She could imagine its appearance. The projectile had deflected down, gouging the bone and tearing through the soft tissue…

She took a breath, feeling her muscles clench up. Focusing on anatomy did make her a little sick. Perhaps that was enough science for the moment.

After the objective ways, there were subjective methods of charting time as well. She could keep track of how alert she felt from day to day, or hour to hour. She could gauge the amount of pain she was in, and how fast the analgesic brought relief.

She could rate the quality of her sleep, although it went from bad to worse. Added to the outside interruptions, it was now haunted by vague dreams. Unclear threats, like veiled nightmares she couldn't recall. Brennan had no way of knowing if the drugs were influencing them in some way. When she went home, would they diminish or intensify?

Measuring how mobile she felt was one of the more daunting factors. Getting in and out of bed, or walking short distances—there was a restriction of movement such as she'd never experienced before. It felt like her whole right side had been injected with a painful stiffening agent. The muscles were very weak, especially in her abdomen, and seemed ready to give out under only minor stress. Her left side hurt, too, which was baffling. It could be referred pain, or perhaps strained muscles from the shooting or the surgery.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the welcome ring of the telephone. It sat on the far edge of the bedside table, but the cord was within reach. Brennan used that to pull it nearer, and answered.

Booth greeted her. "Hi, Bones, how are you doing?"

She was running out of answers to that question. "I'm fine."

They talked first about his activities at the Bureau: attending meetings, tying up loose ends with the Dawes case, and helping other agents with a major theft investigation.

Then Booth said, "Parker wanted me to make sure you'd gotten the card from him and Rebecca."

"Yes, I did. It was… very nice. Amy and her girls sent one, too. Theirs was a homemade card, though. They drew me a picture."

"Yeah, well… they're _girls_."

"I didn't mean to imply it was better than Parker's…"

"Relax, Bones. I'm not offended." She heard a trace of laughter in his voice. But the cards had not made her smile. They'd made her feel… strange.

Rebecca and Parker had signed their card with individual notes. The boy had clearly taken time, like this father would, to say something meaningful._ My dad doesn't like to talk about a lot of things he did as a solider, or even as a cop. But I've always thought he was a hero. And so are you._

Emma and Haley had collaborated to draw a picture of Brennan standing outside a house and holding a colorful bunch of flowers. _Get well and come home soon_, the older girl had written. The younger one said, _I want to be as brave as you when I grow up_. And Amy added a note of her own: _Thank you for making the world a safer place for my girls._

"Bones?" Booth spoke up again. "You okay, there?" She'd been silent for too long.

"Yes…" Brennan didn't know what was prompting her to be candid. But she went ahead, anyway. "These cards. They're all telling me how brave I am. But I don't feel brave. I don't feel deserving."

"Bones…!"

She kept talking over the shocked concern in his voice. "I should have been able to help Ingrid without getting myself injured. _You _would have done it properly. Shooting without hesitation. Not missing."

"Bones, _stop_. You did everything right, do you hear me? I know I should've been there and I wish… You're not a trained cop, but you saved that girl's life! You nailed the bad guy. _No one _could have done any better than that."

Brennan felt unwanted tears come to her eyes. Booth sounded so intent, so caring.

She'd never been able to be objective about him.

"You know Ingrid's been wanting to see you," Booth said. "She keeps asking about the 'FBI woman' who saved her."

"She and her family sent flowers," Brennan managed to say.

"Hey, maybe it wasn't textbook perfect. But you _rescued _her. You're a fucking hero, Bones. She'd love you no matter what, because you got her away from Dawes. Even if you had horns and a tail."

Brennan nearly laughed, as Booth might have intended.

But now a nurse entered the room, and she was glad of it. It gave her an excuse to end the phone call. Because she couldn't continue like this. She _heard _things in Booth's voice. _Felt _things when he looked at her, or when he'd held her three days ago.

She told him goodbye rather brusquely, and hung up the phone.

The nurse came forward with a smile. "How about a bath and a change of clothes?"

She nodded. This was part of the routine. Every other day, nurses would check the dressing on her wound, or give her a sponge bath and new hospital gown.

It was strange, Brennan thought, what a person could get used to. The nurse was pulling back the covers, reaching to undress her. She did not mind being naked. But she did mind how passive and helpless she felt.

The nurse settled herself by the bed, and ran a damp cloth up and down Brennan's arms. It had a clean, soapy smell. Over her neck and chest, then carefully down her abdomen, which was still somewhat bloated from surgery and covered with a gauze dressing.

Brennan thought how her nerve endings registered sensations, and transmitted them to her brain. Matters were more subjective than ever, when it came to Booth. That first day she was finally lucid, he had held her in his arms, and they had both cried. But her memories were not entirely clear.

Now the cloth slid down her thighs and shins to her feet. She felt goose bumps rise on her skin as the moisture evaporated.

She could try to examine the evidence, where Booth was concerned. He had not answered his phone the night of the shooting. But he had stayed at the hospital for four days straight, and called twice a day after that. He had hugged her and murmured intimately.

He used to say, you can trust what you feel. But that couldn't be the case. And she could not trust that she would draw the proper conclusion from available evidence.

The safest guess right now was that Booth felt guilty. That was the kind of person he was: holding himself to very high standards, or thinking he had failed in his duties. But once I go home, Brennan told herself, once I'm recovered, Booth will feel better. He'll stop being so solicitous. He'll go back to Hannah.

The nurse directed her to roll onto her side so her back could be washed. This motion was always painful, and she couldn't help hissing at the compression of ribs, the stretching of skin and muscle.

The drugs were affecting her. She knew enough about them that they _had _to be affecting her. She could not trust her perceptions or judgment, especially where Booth was concerned.

A moment later, the nurse let her roll back to face the ceiling. The same bare, white ceiling she had been staring at for days.

Brennan closed her eyes and let herself be taken care of. She knew about the slow nature of the healing process. She was resigned to it. But beyond that… _I am not brave. I need to protect myself from future risk. Future pain._

"Just raise your arms, dear," the nurse said, and Brennan obeyed.


	14. Tell vs Show

**A/N: **Thanks to jsq for that brainstorming session from which I continue to draw. And to la mome for three things: pointing me to the article I mention at the end, inspiring Angela's anecdote about her cousin, and reading the first half of this section. The rest is wholly un-beta'd, but I didn't want to make you wait for the B/B scene.

**Part 14**

Booth was about to leave the office to grab a sandwich when his cell phone rang. Fishing it from his pocket, he saw Angela's name on the display.

"Angela, is everything okay? I just talked to Bones half an hour ago—"

"No, she's fine. I mean, I think she's fine. That's sort of why I'm calling. Look, did I catch you at a bad time?" Now that she had his full attention, she seemed to be stalling.

"I was going for lunch, don't worry," he said impatiently. "What's going on?"

"I know I should probably ask Cam or even Sweets. But for some crazy reason I'm asking you. I thought…" She took a breath. "I sat with Brennan last night and… What if she's pushing that pain button a little too much? I mean, I know they're set so you can't actually get too much. But even so—even if she hates how it slows down her thought process, I get the feeling she wants to… feel numb. And not just because of the injury."

Booth squeezed his eyes shut. Bones was his first concern, but the way Angela sounded, it was like she wanted reassurance, and wanted him to feel guilty at the same time.

"You know that's not like her," Angela rushed on. "The two of you are the same that way. Anything that interferes with your abilities, or makes you dependent on something… The drugs mess with her brain and she doesn't like it. But she takes them."

Booth, who had been pacing his office, stopped. "Angela, you've never been shot. Or had major surgery. And I hope to God you never will, because it hurts like a son of a bitch. The doctors all tell you, don't try to be a hero. There's no point to it. You have to manage your pain, or else you spend all your energy fighting it, and you don't have anything left for recovering."

"Yeah," Angela said, "I can see that. But… Booth, she was so reckless! I know she did it to rescue someone's child, I know that. But—" Angela seemed to debate with herself. "Look, I have this cousin, and he got into a bad car accident about five years ago. That was right when there was a lot of ugly stuff going on in his life, and… Once he was finally better and had a handle on things, he said… He told me, maybe part of him _wanted _it to happen." Angela's voice wavered. "And I couldn't help thinking…"

She didn't need to spell it out. Booth started pacing again, before he answered. "Give Bones some time, all right? Maybe she doesn't like the drug's side effects, but she's doing the right thing. She has to follow doctors' orders. Once they release her and she's been home a while, then see. Okay, Angela? If she's still popping too many pain pills, _then _you come talk to me."

"Okay." She sighed, sounding somewhat relieved. Booth thought he heard Hodgins in the background, and Angela said something that Booth couldn't make out. A moment later she was back. "I'm still not sure why I called you, so I should probably… No, that's not true. I wanted to—I'm just going to say this. I don't know what's going on in this love triangle with you, Brennan and Hannah. And I don't _want _to know. I don't want to hear anything unless you have a simple, definitive answer. An answer I'm going to like. Because I still think it's messy and complicated, no matter what Bren says."

"What did she say? And I—I do have an answer," Booth stuttered. "I just…"

_I love Brennan, and I'm going to break up with Hannah. But Hannah doesn't know that yet. And Bones…_

"Bones is…"

"Stop." Angela cut him off. "Don't tell me. Tell her, if she'll listen to you. I don't want any excuses or sad stories. Because if you tell me, then I'd have to tell Brennan, and I don't want to get involved. Well, I _do _want to get involved—I've had _many _ideas about how to get involved before now—but I'm _trying _not to. So what I'm saying is…" Booth imagined Angela pointing her finger at him. "_You _better know. And you better have your story straight before you do anything."

She hung up without clarifying, and Booth was left staring out his office window. On the street below, noontime traffic was in full swing.

Was that encouragement from Angela, or a threat? She seemed to say, _I'm still mad at you, but I'm rooting for you just the same. And I'll forgive everything, if you go declare your undying love for Brennan_.

He intended to do that. It was the _how _that had him tied up in knots.

He'd been thinking about this all week, ever since that dream in the hospital waiting room. But he couldn't make any declarations before breaking up with Hannah. And with her in L.A., it shouldn't be done over the phone. The only honorable way to do it was in person. That meant waiting a few days, even if it left him—and Bones?—in an uncomfortable limbo.

Once Hannah was out of the picture, what then? He would proceed very carefully. Bones had already experienced too many hurtful or unexpected things. He didn't want to overwhelm her by adding to them. Besides, he was scared himself. What should he say? How would she react? It would be too easy to mess this up.

Booth gazed out at the city without seeing it. Maybe I shouldn't _tell _Bones at all. Maybe I should _show _her. Because she's all about evidence. And when I tried blurting things out...

The first time, he'd backpedaled. _I love you… in a professional, 'atta girl kind of way._

The next time, he'd gone all in. _I want to give this a shot. _No changies, no take-backs.

And no more discussion. Because he hadn't listened to what she'd been telling him. _You're the one who needs protecting… from me. I don't have your kind of open heart. _

You're wrong, Bones, he thought. Look at how you rushed into that barn with no thought for yourself. How you held onto that girl to comfort her, when you're the one who was hurt. Look at how you took me and all the squints to a funeral on Christmas, so a grieving mother wouldn't be alone. And… how you've supported my relationship with Hannah at every turn.

You don't give yourself enough credit, Bones. And somehow, I'm going to show you.

Booth leaned against his desk, running his hands over his face. Show her, or tell her? When, and how?

He looked at the British bobble-head sitting next to him on the desk, and gave it a tap. I wonder what Sweets 'the magic eight ball' would say about all this. But look where his _you're the gambler _advice got me the last time.

Booth sighed. To tell or not to tell—that was the question. He watched the bobble-head nodding crazily at him. _Yes-no_, it seemed to say as it wobbled. _Yes-no. Yes-no._

-.-.-.-.

Booth drove out to visit Brennan later that night. He'd finished his office work, hit the gym, then grabbed a change of clothes and bite to eat at his apartment. But he still got out later than he'd intended. He drove through the dark, dodging Friday night traffic and praying this wasn't a bad idea.

When he arrived, the nurse told him Bones was already asleep. But the staff knew him by now, and he was allowed to slip into her room. It was dim; the overhead lights turned off, with one lamp glowing from the corner by the window. He guessed this gave the nurses enough light to see by, without blinding the patient and keeping her awake. There was a chair in that corner, so Booth crossed silently over to it, and sat down.

He wasn't sure what he was doing here or how long he meant to stay. But he would take the chance to watch Brennan sleep. The last day he'd spent any time with her, she'd been hooked up to a lot more tubes and wires. He was reassured to see there were only one or two now. And she seemed to be sleeping peacefully: lying on her back, with the blankets pulled up to her chest. The head of the bed was raised slightly, probably to avoid stretching her injury. Her face was turned a little away from him, but he had a perfect view of her cheek and jaw line.

One week ago, at exactly this time, he'd been looking at another woman's profile. Hannah, lying next to him in bed. He'd been loafing there, ignoring his phone and worrying about sexual performance. While Bones… Bones was driving up to that barn, alone. She was rescuing a teenager and taking down a killer, with no backup. And she narrowly missed dying from a bullet. A bullet that shouldn't have gotten anywhere near her, not if Booth had been around.

One of the monitors beeped softly, and he told himself to relax. Bones was okay. She was going to be okay.

Now he thought of Hannah. He'd talked to her a few times over the past week, and it sounded like she was enjoying herself: the L.A. sunshine, the interesting people she'd met… And her assignment hadn't turned out to be dangerous, thank God. Because Booth couldn't devote himself to two crazy, courageous women. He'd already tried to split his time and attention, and almost lost Bones in the process.

Even if Hannah's job had been dangerous, he would still let her go. He would let her do what she was going to do. Because he'd made his choice. And he knew his place was right here, with Bones.

Booth shifted position, realizing that this chair was quite a good one. A lounge chair, not a flimsy plastic thing. He pushed back against the cushion, stretching his feet out on the floor. He leaned his head back, too. Maybe he wasn't fully recovered from his lack of sleep, staying at the hospital. He would just close his eyes for a minute. It was nice and quiet here, aside from the occasional car engine outside. Quiet enough, that he thought he could hear Bones breathing.

He awoke to the sound of her voice.

"Booth?"

He opened his eyes and blinked sleepily, to find her doing the same thing. "What time is it?" she asked. "Why are you…?"

He checked the clock, then leaned forward, smiling. "About nine-thirty. How long were you asleep?"

"I… Why are you here?" She was frowning as though trying to figure him out. "You should have called first. I didn't expect anyone to be here."

Damn, Booth thought. Just when I resolved not to unsettle her in any way… He tried to grin despite himself. "I would say sorry I woke you up, but technically, you woke me."

His smile wasn't returned. "Don't you have Parker this weekend?"

"Yeah, I'm picking him up tomorrow morning."

She looked upset now, those lines between her eyebrows deepening.

"Bones, I'm not cutting into my time with him. It's just, I haven't seen my partner in three days. I wanted to check on you."

"I'm fine." She crossed her arms over her chest. "My father, Angela and the medical staff are doing a perfectly good job of checking on me."

Booth couldn't help hearing something behind the words. It sounded like _I don't need you_. But he couldn't blame her for it.

"I'm sure they are," he said. "But, you know… seeing is believing." He'd meant it to be lighthearted, but she held his eyes as if searching for another meaning. Her pupils were dilated in the dim light, and her face looked too thin for Booth's liking.

She broke the silence by asking about Parker, so Booth described their plans for the weekend: football in the park on Saturday, church and pancake breakfast on Sunday. While he talked, Brennan adjusted the controls on the bed, raising it to a more upright position. Then she reached for the water pitcher on the table. Booth's instinct was to get up and help her, but he restrained himself.

Next she asked about Hannah and how the assignment was going. Booth started to talk about that too, wondering what was going on in Brennan's head. She poured a cup of water and drank it, listening. But this time there was no smile like she'd had for Parker.

With her polite questions and his polite answers, it was like they were playing roles. The same uncomfortable roles they'd been playing in previous months. How did we get back to this? he wondered. After the other day, when she cried, and I cried, and there was nothing awkward or guarded between us.

Bones might feel vulnerable, he decided. Right now, she was touching on the 'safe' topics they had established. The things they could still talk about in their professional, partners-only dynamic.

"So of course, Hannah wants try surfing before she leaves," Booth finished.

"She might be good at it. It relies on balance and center of gravity… Just be sure she wears a sunscreen that's waterproof and high in SPF, because the ultra-violet radiation can reach harmful levels."

"Okay, I'll be sure to tell her." Booth smiled, but fell into a self-conscious silence. Hannah really wasn't a safe topic at all.

Now he knew he should offer to leave, because Brennan needed her sleep. But he finally had a chance to direct the conversation, and with Angela's phone call fresh in his mind…

Bones had reached for the pain button before that surfing comment. He watched her, to see if the lines on her face would relax. They didn't seem to, and he could tell his scrutiny was making her nervous. So he came right out and asked about her level of pain.

She didn't meet his gaze. "It can be pretty bad. You've been shot; you know that. I certainly wouldn't want to do this without the benefit of analgesics." She scratched half-heartedly at the IV in her arm. "They're going to switch me to oral painkillers tomorrow."

"Let me ask you something else, Bones," he said quietly. "What was going through your mind, when you were outside that barn?"

Brennan's eyes darted to his, looking wary. She probably didn't know why he was asking, but after a second, seemed to accept it as a 'partner thing.'

"I wasn't thinking much of anything. Just that my worst fears were confirmed—that our science was confirmed. We had the right location. Dawes was there, holding Ingrid prisoner."

She hadn't answered his question, so he waited her out, and found the analysis turned back on him. "You're not angry at me, like Angela is," Brennan said. "Because I think you would've done the same thing. Whether you had backup or not."

"I was a little angry. But I understand. And, yeah. I would've done the same thing."

She gave a slight nod, that he'd agreed. Her eyes were sober, then slid away, unfocused. "There wasn't a choice, really. There was no way I could have stood by, not when…" She described, haltingly, that view of Ingrid through the window. Of Dawes, and the weapons laid out on a table.

Booth realized he hadn't heard from _her _about what had happened. Just bits and pieces from Hacker or medical staff. Now, while she spoke… he felt proud and heartbroken all over again.

Bones had to play his role as well as her own. She hadn't gone in with gun blazing, but tried to do the cop thing: yelling at the suspect, intending to handcuff him. "Even if he was armed, and clearly a threat—you're supposed to do things by the book, right?"

Booth nodded, not trusting himself to speak. His genius, follow-the-rules Brennan still recalled the trouble she'd gotten into after her first shooting, when she hadn't given warning.

Now she said, "I did what you would've done." It was soft, but matter of fact. Booth looked at the lamplight shining on her hair, and the unconscious way she'd moved one hand to cover her wound.

She was trying to live up to my standards, he thought. And she did. She really did. He remembered her voice on the phone earlier. _I should have been able to do this without getting myself injured. _You _would have done it properly._

Angela is wrong, he thought. Not wrong to worry, but wrong that she somehow looked for danger.

"Bones, let me say this again, because I don't know if it sank in before. Maybe you hesitated for a second, maybe you missed the first time, but you still made a _perfect _shot, _while _seriously injured_. _That's…" He shook his head. "You're like a superhero."

She gave him a skeptical look.

"I mean it. Because there's something I forgot to tell you, when I saw Ingrid and her parents at the Bureau. She was asking to see you, and we said you were still at the hospital, but she almost wouldn't believe you were still recovering."

"She was there, Booth. She saw me bleeding. I know she was being affected by quite a few stress hormones…"

He waved that away. "From her point of view, that bullet barely stopped you. The way you took out Dawes and then got her free? She said when you pulled the rope off that hook, you lifted her clean off her feet."

"That is a big exaggeration. But…" Bones seemed to think about it. "Adrenaline can result in extraordinary strength in high-stress situations."

"What did I tell you?" Booth grinned. "Superhero."

She smiled back, but something flickered in her eyes like a bad memory. He wanted to know what it was. It couldn't have been some super science she'd used to catch bad guys in the past, could it? Or the time they'd rescued another kidnapped girl, as Wonder Woman and Clark Kent…

"Well," she said, "it's getting late. And you still have to drive back… since you can't fly impossibly fast, like a superhero."

He smiled indulgently at her joke, then made a show of checking the clock. "I have a little time before I have to get home. I know you need to rest, but…" He leaned over and took the remote from the lamp table. "What do you say we sit here and watch some TV, huh? Just like old times, you and me."

Bones started to smile—he _thought _she did. But it was gone too suddenly to be sure. That cautiousness was back in her eyes, the kind that made him feel like an ogre. And now, she just looked tired.

Bones looked right at him and said, "Go home, Booth." He was taken aback by the coldness in her voice. "I need to sleep." Then she dropped her gaze, sounding like the Bones he knew. "You do, too. You don't look well-rested. And I don't want you to be tired for your time with Parker. Or later, when Hannah gets home."

Booth stood up, more out of instinct, and not because he intended to leave.

A nurse walked in, and Brennan said, "Thanks for stopping by, Booth. Goodnight, and drive safely." She smiled then, and he thought there was something valiant about it.

"Oh, no," the nurse said, "Agent Booth? Did you wake up my patient after you swore to be quiet?" She was teasing him, yet he got the sense she was very protective of Brennan. "Yeah, it's time to leave. Come on, shoo."

She herded him out, and he barely had time to tell Bones goodnight in return.

-.-.-.-.

**A/N: **A recent National Geographic article says that romantic rejection can activate the same parts of the brain that process physical pain. In a study, subjects were asked to look at photos of their ex-partners, and think about being rejected, while undergoing an MRI scan. The same parts of the brain that manage physical pain were lit up (for the squints, those are the secondary somatosensory cortex, and the dorsal posterior insula).

So, is this the other reason Bren keeps pushing the pain meds, and why Booth fell into bed with Hannah—to ameliorate the sting of rejection?


	15. Moving On

**A/N: **Thanks to adangeli and jsq for reading the Hannah section. And sorry for the shorter chapter, but last week's was a bit longer, so it all evens out, right?

**Part 15**

Booth's thoughts were very much with Brennan that weekend, even while he tossed a football with Parker, made him lunch, or tucked him into bed.

He almost wished he'd spilled his feelings that night, when Bones told him to go. But he wasn't sure of her reactions anymore. He was off his game, like he'd lost the knack of reading her.

Bones had said, _I did what you did. _And she had. When she'd been held prisoner by that dirty cop Kenton, Booth had saved her like she'd saved Ingrid. Arriving in the nick of time; shooting the bad guy while gravely hurt. Freeing the girl: pulling loose the gag, lifting her off the hook. Holding her safe while she shivered.

Now, Bones had returned the favor. He wondered if she recalled the 'cosmic balance sheet' he'd spoken of, after their second case. She'd scoffed at first, then turned sincere. _I'd like to help you with that._

After the run-in with Kenton, he'd been the one in a hospital bed. Bones had passed up a date to stay with him. To sit right next to him and watch an old film on TV. She wore a pretty black dress and a bandage on her forehead. His own injuries ached, under the haze of pain meds. It hadn't taken him long to fall asleep, lulled by the black and white movie, and Brennan's closeness.

-.-.-.-.

When Booth got back from dropping Parker at Rebecca's, he found Hannah's suitcases sitting in the hallway and delicious cooking smells emanating from his kitchen.

He went around the corner to see her standing at the stove. "Hey," he said. "I thought you were going to call. I'd have given you a ride from the airport…"

"Hey, yourself. It's okay, I took a cab." She put down the spoon she was holding and came over to hug him. Booth had forgotten how attractive she was. Her face and arms were tan, and her honey blonde hair shone with highlights from the sun. But he was glad she didn't kiss him.

"What's this?" He gestured at the cooking implements and sizzling stovetop.

"Dinner. It's a frittata. A secret recipe, actually, that I _acquired _while I was in L.A." As they sat down to eat, she told him the story. "The camera guy and some people from the news agency, they took me to this great little restaurant, and I just fell in love with this." She pointed her fork at her plate, then took a bite, considering. "But I don't think it turned out the way I remember it."

"It's really good," Booth said through a mouthful.

"Well, I resolved not to leave until I had obtained that recipe. It wasn't easy. But I am a dedicated journalist, and I have my ways of getting information."

Booth smiled, to see Hannah smile. She was so beautiful and fun. Being with her was like being back in high school, even if they'd "met" under a fig tree and not under the bleachers. He felt like a carefree young stud again.

Except that he wasn't. And there were key parts of himself that he'd never revealed to Hannah. Key parts of his heart.

She asked him about work, and about Parker and Brennan. Booth described the weekend with his son, then said, "I think they're letting Bones go home tomorrow."

"That's good. Are you, um… Are you going back to your crime-solving duo after this?"

Booth had been cutting another bite from his frittata, but froze. "I—" He had no idea. He'd been so wrapped up in his own turmoil, and Brennan's recovery, that he hadn't thought past the next few days. Would she want to? After her injury and his own failure, would _he_ want to? "I honestly don't know."

Hannah looked anxious now. "Seeley… I am sorry, for how that worked out. I'm sorry she was hurt and I wouldn't want…"

"It's okay." This, Booth thought, was the time to tell her. But instead of being direct, he glanced across the room toward the suitcases in the hall. She'd taken two bags with her, and left two here. But all four bags were now sitting by the door.

"You haven't unpacked yet?"

"No. Seeley…" Her voice took on a carefulness that he was feeling himself. "I had this kind of revelation in California. And I think… I'd like to go back. There are so many great stories to explore. Not just the provocative ones, with corruption and crime, but some real human interest ones too. Because… You know I'm a nomad at heart, right? I think… I think it's time I moved on."

Booth stared at her. "You… you're dumping me?"

She gave a half smile, but her mouth pulled down at the edges. "I don't think you'd want to come with me. You have your job here, your son here. And… your partner."

"Yeah…" Booth didn't know what to say. "I thought… I had a revelation too. And I was going to break up with _you_. But I guess you beat me to it."

They looked at each other, and then dissolved into helpless laughter.

"I was afraid of hurting you," Hannah said once they were serious again. "I was leaving you at a stressful time…"

It _is _a stressful time, Booth could have said. "I didn't want to hurt you either. I didn't want to screw things up…" _Any more than they already are._

Now Hannah's gaze sharpened with what he thought of as her journalist look. "You and I both knew I'd be moving on. Once I'd had a chance to scope out the news in D.C. And once I had the whole story… about you."

Booth tried to smile, crookedly. "Just a few months and you already have the whole story?"

"Maybe not. Maybe I only scratched the surface." She watched him thoughtfully. "And that's enough for me right now. Because it looks like we're at different places in our lives. But I think… someone else gets the deeper stuff about you, right?"

Her voice was soft, and Booth loved her for making this easy on him.

He nodded. And then he told her about him and Bones. About their present and past. Not in too much detail, but enough. The things he probably should have told Hannah months ago, in Afghanistan, so she'd have a better idea what she was getting into.

He found himself apologizing, but Hannah stopped him. "I get it. You were on the rebound. Even if the two of you weren't officially a couple."

They'd taken their dishes to the sink, and now Booth handed her a clean, wet plate. She wrapped it in the dish towel and said, "I can accept when I'm a third wheel. And I'm cool with it. I can just… roll on back to California."

"And go surfing?" Booth suggested. "As long as you wear sunscreen—Bones told me to remind you about that."

She laughed. "That sounds like Temperance. Yeah, surfing, or rollerblading along the beach path. Or maybe hitting the nightlife with some edgy young filmmaker." She gave him a sidelong look as if to check his reaction.

"Really?"

She tossed her head. "Maybe. Like I said, there are _lots _of interesting people out there."

"All right," Booth groaned. "You don't have to rub it in." But he was not jealous. He was glad. And very relieved.

Half an hour later, they stood somewhat awkwardly in his hallway. Hannah was buttoning her coat, about to leave for a hotel, and before long, she'd be back on a plane to California.

"You're gonna watch my news feature, right? I'll send you a link to see it online, if it doesn't air here." She started to collect her bags, slinging the straps over her shoulders. "I'll call you if I come back East. Even if we just get coffee… Because we both might be in a relationship with someone else, right?" She smiled, and it was only a little regretful.

"I'd like that," Booth said, realizing he meant both the coffee and the relationship.

"Bye, Seeley. It's been fun." Hannah kissed his cheek, which couldn't have been an easy feat, saddled with her bags. He opened the door for her, and then she was gone.

-.-.-.-.

**A/N: **There's actually a debate about whether the phrase is "third wheel" or "fifth wheel." I only started reading about it and then said, who cares, I'm going with my first impulse. Besides, I prefer bicycles to cars. :)


	16. A Plan

**A/N: **Thanks to jsq for the term 'gun shy.' I though it sounded like something Cam would say.

**Part 16  
**

Shortly after Hannah left, Booth got in his car and turned himself toward the hospital to visit Bones.

He didn't get very far before doubts plagued him. He could still hear the cold exhaustion in her voice when she'd said, "Go home, Booth." Since then, he hadn't talked to her at all, though he'd wanted to. Parker had kept him busy all weekend; but if Booth was honest with himself, he'd admit to being scared.

Watching road signs, he saw his exit approaching. He hesitated, his hand on the turn signal… and then he bypassed it.

I can't just show up unannounced like I've been doing. Bones and I are supposed to be close, but… it throws her off balance. Like Max popping in and out of her life, whether she wants him or not.

I should at least call first. But what am I going to say?_ Hannah and I broke up, so I'm all yours... If you'll have me._

Booth kept driving down a road that wouldn't take him anywhere. He knew his recent behavior had left a lot to be desired. Not just failing to answer his phone, but being… changeable.

He thought of Cam's words after his coma. _You better be sure of your feelings, because if you crack that shell and then change your mind, Brennan will die of loneliness before she ever trusts anyone again. _

What if he'd lost his chance? It looked like he _had _changed his mind.

I told myself I had. Because Bones rejected me. She talked about leaving first. But the facts remained: he'd been acting like he didn't love her. By leaving, and finding someone else.

_Love is just a chemical process, _Bones would tell him. _Relationships are ephemeral. _He wouldn't stop debating her about that. But now, he'd ended up following the same pattern he hoped to disprove.

_Forget the bruised brain, _Cam had told him, _and go with your heart. _Booth wanted to keep doing that. He wanted to throw caution to the wind and tell Bones everything. It should have been simple, but…

A stoplight was approaching, and Booth put his foot on the brake. If he circled around, he could get back into the city. He would go to Cam's place. Maybe she could help him see more clearly, like she had before.

-.-.-.-.

When he showed up on her doorstep, Cam looked surprised and worried. But it turned to faint amusement when he said, "I could use a drink. And some advice. You got any?"

She stepped aside to let him in. "I can't make any promises. But I probably have both."

They walked into the kitchen, where Michelle was loading some bowls into the dishwasher. She said hi to Booth, then told Cam she'd be in her room.

"I can't go out for drinks," Cam explained. "I promised to look over Michelle's science homework later tonight. She's a whiz at languages, but I don't think I can plan on her becoming a Jeffersonian intern anytime soon."

Booth sat down at the table while Cam collected two glasses and poured them each a drink. Then she sat down too.

Booth took a sip, feeling the warmth flow down to his belly. Gazing into the glass he said, "Hannah and I broke up."

"Oh." Cam paused. "Should I say sorry or congratulations?"

Booth tried to give her a disapproving look, but she had a point.

"And now I don't know what my next step is. Because Bones and I… I want her to know that…"

"You're still in love with Dr. Brennan." Cam said it just as bluntly as she had the first time, trying not to smile at his reaction.

He sighed helplessly. "I don't know what to _do _about it. How to tell her or—show her. Because the other night at the hospital, she looked so… and I wanted to say something to make her feel better. But is it crazy to think I even have that power?"

At that point, a phone rang and they heard Michelle's footsteps hurry across the hallway. "Whoever that is," Cam yelled, "you've got twenty minutes, no longer." Then she sighed, giving Booth an apologetic look for interrupting him. "But who else would it be but Derek?"

"The boyfriend? Doesn't she have other people calling her? Girlfriends, classmates asking about homework?"

"Oh, yeah. But she doesn't _run _to the phone like that for anyone else."

Booth sat quietly for a moment. Then he said, "That's what I want to do. I want to run over there. I want to go to Bones and tell her everything. That I never stopped loving her, and I'm sorry for screwing this up. That I'll never forgive myself, and I would do anything if…"

"Seeley."

He shook his head. "I didn't _listen _to her and I didn't listen to myself. I need to go back and set things right. I need to be the gambler, but do it _better _this time. Because she doesn't have to be by herself, but she needs to see evidence. Now I _have _the evidence that Hannah's gone, and then from there…" He looked up at Cam. "You said it yourself, we both deserve another chance. And last time, you told me to go with my heart. But maybe not completely? Because I don't want to—"

"Stop." Cam put her hand on his arm. "Take a breath. Have another drink." She watched him while he took a gulp of alcohol. "I think you're overanalyzing this. But I can understand why. And I don't know all the details… but it sounds to me like you're a little gun shy."

He raised an eyebrow. "You're saying this to a former sniper?"

"I mean about you and Brennan and love. God, now you're being as literal as she is."

Booth had to smile at that one.

"Listen. The two of you have been through a lot over the last few years. Even aside from all the times someone's gotten shot or blown up or buried alive. First there was the whole Brennan-wants-a-baby, sperm-donation thing—for reasons she still hasn't admitted. And then you had us all rushing to the hospital for your brain tumor and a coma that lasted four days. You wake up from that, you don't remember who you are. You think you and Brennan are married."

Booth held up a hand to tell Cam she'd made her point, but she was on a roll.

"She freaks out and runs away to Central America. You get better, she comes back… things are pretty good for a while. But then, something else must've happened that you're not telling me about. Something that makes you strangely hesitant and makes her—hell, I don't know what's going through her mind half the time. And _then_, to make all this sound even more like a soap opera, you both run off to the other side of the world at the earliest opportunity."

"And then I met Hannah." Booth grimaced. "Two weeks ago, Bones and I started the Dawes case. And she almost died." _Because I wasn't there._

"Hey." Cam's tone persuaded him to look at her, and he saw the sympathy in her dark eyes. "This is an emotional roller coaster for both of you. Just take it easy for a while. But I think you're right: you need to proceed carefully. Don't charge over there and instantly profess your love. Not on the very day you call it quits with Hannah."

Booth shook his head in agreement. "Because Bones wouldn't believe me. Wouldn't trust me."

"And it might look like you're acting out of guilt. Doing something rash, without thinking."

"I finally _am _thinking."

But Cam was looking at him intently. "Brennan might think that your feelings are situational. Have you thought of that? Because she got shot, and we almost lost her. A crisis like that has a way of… amplifying emotions."

"_No_," Booth raised his voice, "don't be like Sweets, trying to tell me it's just a blip on a brain scan and it's going to fade. My feelings aren't _amplified _by this. Or they are, because they're _true_. I finally realized that."

Cam watched him for another second, then said, "Okay," in a definitive tone. She took a drink, setting the glass down firmly. "So now you need a plan."

"Yes. A plan is exactly what I need." He took a breath. "I was going to visit Bones tonight, because I haven't seen her since Friday. Even if they're releasing her from the hospital tomorrow or Tuesday, I just need to see her and… I could bring her something. She's allowed to have real food now, but I don't know what…"

"I think that's a good idea," Cam said. "Just keep doing things you would normally do for your partner, right? Because, my advice… Forget the love stuff—for now. Just get back to where you were. Before Hannah or Afghanistan or whatever else is holding you back. Just get back to being her friend."

"Yeah," Booth said. "That's what I've been trying… to give Bones the evidence she needs. That she's a priority, and I'm not going anywhere."

He fell silent, and they could hear Michelle laughing on the phone in the other room. Cam made a face, and Booth smiled.

"Hey." He sat up straighter. "I want to do something special for Bones when she comes home. Getting her apartment ready? Maybe stocking the fridge with all those healthy things she likes to eat, or…"

Cam's mouth curved. "You're on the same page with Angela. She's already orchestrating all of that, with Max's help."

"She is?" Booth felt guilty that he hadn't thought of it first. And—he glanced at Cam—why did she have to look so amused and superior around him, like he was the slow kid in class? But there was enough fondness in her expression that he couldn't stay mad at her.

"Look, it's a group effort," Cam said. "I'll do some, Hodgins will do some… We'll make sure you have a good part in it too."

Booth quizzed her about who was doing what task—groceries, laundry, whatever—and it seemed like there was nothing left for him. But then the wheels started turning in his head. Cam eyed him, curious about what he was thinking. But he wasn't going to tell her.

By the time Michelle reappeared holding a textbook, Booth felt a lot better. He had a plan. It was still uncertain, yes. It might only work for the next few days, but then he could re-evaluate. When it felt right, he would move on to the next step.

Booth thanked Cam and said goodnight. Outside, walking to his parking spot, he enjoyed the cold air on his skin. It was still early. He would call Bones to check about visiting her.

He started his car and turned toward the highway. There might be a point, he knew, where _not _telling Bones his feelings would be worse than telling her. But he would recognize that bridge when he came to it.

Booth thought of his advice to her, during Max's trial. He would remember that now. Even if he was out of practice, he could find the balance.

_Brain and heart, Bones. Brain and heart._

-.-.-.-.

**A/N: **Things might not go as well as Booth is hoping. Just so you know. I'm a sucker for more angst.


	17. Mistakes

**A/N: **Thanks to la mome for reading and giving the go-ahead. And gratitude to doctorsuez for some great medical info. However, I haven't incorporated it into this section, so any goof-ups are completely mine.

The poem that ends this chapter is Denise Levertov's "The Closed World." I quote the last two stanzas of a three-stanza poem.

Also: angst. Don't say I didn't warn you. :)

**Part 17  
**

It had been a tough weekend for Brennan.

She was grateful to be free of the medical tubes and paraphernalia, but "free" was a relative term, based on how limited her strength and range of motion still were.

It seemed that the pain migrated slightly each day. Because the bullet had pierced between her lower ribs, she had extreme tenderness there; and with a surgical incision to access her liver, she could add the pain and nausea of abdominal surgery. "I'm sorry to say," a nurse commented, "that you get the worst of both worlds."

It had taken a couple tries to find the correct dosage of oral painkillers. The first one had put Brennan right to sleep, and while she was still desperate for a restful night, she didn't want to spend her days unconscious. A smaller dose left her with more lingering pain than was tolerable, before she and the nurses settled on an appropriate amount.

To make things more difficult, her "innards," as Booth put it, started working again. And once they started, they kept on working. She spent a good portion of Saturday shuffling to and from the bathroom in the corner of her room.

All of this left her exhausted on Sunday, but instead of relaxing, she pushed herself even harder with her forays down the hall. Unaccompanied this time, Brennan walked all the way to the elevators, and from there, to a little store on the hospital's first floor, so she could buy a newspaper. But she was almost too tired to read it. Standing to wait for the elevator might have been the worst part, and she'd braced her hand on the wall to give her abs and ribcage a break.

In the middle of the day, a nurse helped her wash her hair. After a week, it needed it, though the process was a challenge. She couldn't get her stitches wet, so she'd stood outside the shower stall and leaned into the spray of water. This had resulted in a large puddle on the bathroom floor, and all of her core muscles complaining at the strain. But she felt refreshed afterward.

Later she took a nap, and nibbled at the dinner she didn't feel like eating. That evening, she was sitting on top of the covers in a t-shirt and sweats, reading the day's newspaper, when Booth called, intending to come see her. She should have told him not to make the drive out here. Or that she was too tired for visitors, which was essentially the truth. But when he said he had something to give her, curiosity got the better of her.

Brennan _wanted _to see him. She knew she shouldn't… shouldn't get used to spending personal, non-work time with him. But Max and Russ had left a couple hours ago, and she wanted the company.

-.-.-.-.

Booth came in with a shifty smile and two takeout containers hidden under his coat. "In case you weren't allowed," he said. "I was afraid the nurses would take it away from me." He came up and put the boxes on the tray across the bed. "You probably don't want anything too rich, so I just got rice and roasted vegetables."

Brennan wasn't sure she had the appetite for it, but it did smell good. "Here," she said, "these are for you." Two cups of pudding rested on the tray, chocolate and vanilla. "Whichever you want. Assuming it's as good as you remember it."

"You had them bring these just for me?"

She nodded. "Well, I let them think it was for me."

He smiled in approval of her little deception. Then he shrugged off his leather jacket and sat down next to the bed. Taking the chocolate pudding, he peeled back the lid and took a bite. His eyes closed in pleasure. "Mm. Just as good as I remember." He licked the spoon to get a dollop he'd missed. "See, Bones, this is why I love you." Then his eyes darted to her as if realizing what he'd said. Her expression must have convinced him to amend his statement. "I mean… my partner… doing nice things for me."

She looked away, and then he was fumbling in his coat to take out something else. "But I have one other nice thing for _you_. Maybe even better than a newspaper, and hot off the presses. Well, warm, anyway." He handed her the latest edition of _Science_.

Brennan noted the address label in the corner. "Camille Saroyan?"

"Yeah, well…" Booth gave a disarming smile. "She wanted you to have it."

"Thank you. This is all very thoughtful."

He took another spoonful of pudding, and pointed at the takeout containers. "Come on, eat up."

Brennan managed several bites of rice, and it was very tasty after the questionable hospital fare. But she let Booth finish most of it. "I had a good dinner," he said, "but I'm still hungry. Probably all that running around with Parker." As they passed the food back and forth, he went on, "We just need some piles of bureaucratic paperwork to do, and this'll be like old times, huh?"

It wasn't the first occasion he'd made such a comment, and she wasn't sure what to think. Instead of pondering it, she asked about the weekend with his son. Booth summarized it, then said, "Parker kept asking to visit you, you know. But I think it was more about seeing a real injury up close, than from the kindness of his heart. He actually said, 'Do you think she'd show me where the bullet went in? I bet it'd be cool. And gross.'"

"He's basically correct," Brennan said. Booth raised his brows, and she explained, "I finally took a look at it. The initial wound doesn't seem so bad; it's the incision that's rather unpleasant."

Despite her straightforward tone, Booth's face tightened as though she'd said something worse. It was clear he still felt guilty, and that references to her pain and injury were uncomfortable. He changed the subject, talking about some interpersonal conflict between agents at the Bureau.

They finished their food, and while Booth talked he helped clear the tray table and fold it back down. Then Brennan forced herself to ask about Hannah and the trip to California.

Booth went quiet for several seconds. "Bones, there's something I have to tell you. About me and Hannah."

That serious, careful note was back in his voice, and she stopped him. "It's okay. You don't have to explain."

He frowned. "What?"

"I think I know what you're going to say, but you don't have to. I imagine you're feeling badly about not being there the night I got shot, but you don't need to apologize." Booth was still staring at her, so she kept going. "I know you and Hannah had plans. When I called, you were probably at a restaurant and didn't hear your phone. Or maybe you'd already gone home." Now he opened his mouth as if to protest, and she said, "It's okay, Booth. I understand. You deserve to have a life outside of work. A good life." Brennan wished she could better read the emotions passing over his features. Shock, for one. Guilt, even anger?

"Bones…" It took him a moment to find his voice. "That's not what I was going to say. I was going to… Hannah moved out. She wanted to, but I would've asked her anyway. Because she really likes it in L.A., and the people there… The point is, we broke up. It was a mutual thing."

He was pausing, and stumbling over the words in a way that wasn't like him. The phrases echoed surreally in Brennan's head. _We broke up. A mutual thing_. Booth didn't seem hurt by the news, did he? She was glad of that. But beyond it, all she could think was, _I'm to blame for this somehow._

She was convinced of it. Booth surely blamed himself, and maybe even Hannah, because he'd been with her the night of the shooting. But… moving out was Hannah's choice. Had she left because she saw Booth spending so much time at the hospital, with his 'just work' partner?

He was still talking, as if justifying things. "Hannah's more focused on her career right now, on travel and having fun…"

Why is he telling me this? Brennan thought. What if he's done what he told me not to, after the Gravedigger's trial? _Don't make any hasty decisions, _he'd pleaded_. It's like when you're at the dentist and they give you Novocain. You have to wait until the shock has worn off. _

But he hadn't waited. He had acted, and now she would have to—what? Watch him move on, again? Or try to get Hannah back, if he regretted his too-quick decision?

Booth finally trailed off. "Damn." He sighed. "I know I'm talking a lot. This really isn't going according to plan, but… I just wanted you to know."

Brennan couldn't think. What had just happened? Trying to decipher it was making her head hurt.

A small part of her, that she was trying to squash, felt desperately hopeful. Is he telling me this because…?

She couldn't come out and ask him. She was too afraid of the answer. And right now, the physical challenges were enough. She lacked the reserves for more.

Sooner or later, Brennan would have to confront it. Even before she'd gotten shot, she doubted whether she could keep going the way she had been.

Because it hadn't taken her long to regret her decision. She'd rejected Booth's offer of a relationship—a real one, not a surrogate 'non-couple' partnership. There was even that moment, at the airport, when she'd almost begged him not to go. She'd almost recanted right there in the crowded terminal, so she wouldn't have to let go of his hand. But it would have been too irrational. Too unlike her. They'd both made their commitments, and couldn't back out at the last minute.

Now, Brennan was grateful that she was the one in a hospital bed. Booth had been incredibly fortunate to return from a war zone without physical or mental harm.

What she'd wanted to do since Maluku was _claim _him. Convince him, fight for him, if necessary. But it wasn't until she got back and saw him with Hannah that she truly understood the consequences.

It was too late to change her mind. Too late to tell him she was a gambler after all. So she had resigned herself. To give Booth that chance at happiness, with someone not hampered by fears the way she was.

She'd been so afraid of ruining what they had, it became a self-fulfilling prophecy. She _had _ruined things with Booth, before they even began.

And now, had she ruined his relationship with Hannah, too?

Brennan realized he was watching her, and she'd been silent much too long. "I'm sorry," she said unsteadily. "I know how hard it is… when relationships change."

His gaze felt much too intense for her liking. She tried to find a better position on the bed, pushing unnecessarily at the blanket.

"I'm not sorry," he told her. "It needed to happen." She could only meet his eyes for a moment, and his expression almost made her angry. Something upsetting had happened in _his _life, and he was looking at her like _she _needed comfort.

"Bones." He spoke softly, but it seemed he'd decided something. "Nothing's going to change with us. We're partners, right? Whatever you want to do once you're back at work… keep solving murders or not… I'm your friend, okay? I'm not going anywhere."

This. On top of what he'd just said… it was too much.

Booth had anticipated her fear: that she might lose what little of him she had. But that wasn't _enough _anymore. And if it meant she would have to stand by merely as his friend, while he _moved on _again…

Brennan wanted to tell him to leave. It felt like he was hovering, always watching her, when she needed to be alone and think. Or not think—just take more medicine and sleep.

When she still didn't respond, he dropped his gaze, getting abruptly to his feet. "Don't you have anything to say?" His voice sounded dangerously low.

"I—" she blurted out, "I'm glad we're still partners."

"Okay." He waited. "But you have to have some emotional reaction to all this. Don't you?"

She was honestly confused. "To Hannah moving out?"

"No. I mean, yes, but—I mean the part where I didn't answer my goddamn phone, while my partner was running into a life-or-death situation. All you said was, _I deserve to have a life outside of work_? Bones, that's not even… How can you just accept that?"

Now Brennan was the one staring in disbelief.

"This is our _partnership _we're talking about! And I fucked it up. I really did. I know you're still recovering and not as feisty as usual. But I thought you had more gumption. I thought you would stand up for yourself. Why not yell at me for leaving you during such a major case—hell, on any case! Why not yell at me because I wasn't there, and you could have died, and _Hacker _had to be the one to come rescue you?"

Brennan sat in shock at his loud words. But her mind flashed back to the disjointed experiences in that barn. How she'd seen what she wanted to see: Booth, leading the team, coming right toward her.

"I don't want to yell at you." She spoke without thinking. "I'm not angry at you for that. But I expected you to be there, and that makes me a little angry at myself."

Booth was quiet now, standing tensely next to the bed. "I made such a big mistake, Bones. I'll never forgive myself for that. Why… why are you?"

Brennan looked up at the hurt in his eyes. She couldn't tell if she'd caused it. She couldn't follow his changes anymore, and suddenly his question _did _make her angry. "_You've _made mistakes? Well, so have I. But I just have to live with them, don't I?"

The heat of discussion made her forget herself, and she sat up straight, to be closer to him in height. Instant pain seized her muscles, and she fell back, hissing. Booth was there in a second, touching her arm, but she gritted her teeth. "Stop it. I'm fine."

"You're not fine, Bones. You—"

"I _will _be fine. If you just leave me alone and let me—" She didn't know how to finish that. _Let me get used to being alone?_

"No." He was maddeningly calm again. "You wanna tell me what mistakes you were talking about?"

Why was he doing this? She wanted him to leave. She wanted her head to stop hurting.

"I didn't answer my phone that night," he persisted. "Tell me, Bones. What mistakes are you talking about?"

"I shouldn't have—" He'd worn her down, and she couldn't properly plan her words. "I shouldn't have let you go to Afghanistan. I shouldn't have let you go at all. But it was the same as going into that barn without waiting for backup. They were mistakes in one sense, because I got hurt. But I only did it to protect someone else."

Booth was frowning like he was on the verge of breaking a case. "Let me get this straight…"

"No," she said, her voice turning shrill. "Enough! I can't do this tonight." She reached over and pushed the call button to summon a nurse.

Booth didn't say anything. She wasn't looking at him, but could see his tense body language start to deflate.

A nurse breezed into the room, and Brennan asked her to refill the water pitcher, and to escort Booth out.

It was the same nurse from the last time Booth was here. She looked between the two of them, and then took his arm decisively. "Come on. Do as the lady says."

He turned back to Brennan, and she couldn't stand the look in his eyes. "You're really throwing me out?"

Yes, she was using the medical staff to get rid of him, as if to guard against something he would do.

"I'm sorry. I can't…" Brennan felt tears fill her eyes as she watched him pick up his jacket. "Please drive safely getting back."

-.-.-.-.

_Light and the wind enact_

_passion and resurrection_

_day in, day out_

_but the blinds are down over my windows,_

_my doors are shut._

_._

_When after the long drought at last_

_silver and darkness swept over the hills_

_the dry indifferent glare in my mind's eye_

_wavered but burned on._


	18. Dolphins and Daffodils

**A/N: **Does Bren own a TV or not? Show's writers can't decide, so for the purposes of this fic, I'm saying no.

Thanks to la mome for a quick email consultation, to jsq for reading the beginning section, and to doctorsuez for medical info.

**Part 18  
**

Monday morning, Booth still felt dazed from the previous evening. But he went on doggedly with work, and with plans for the next day, when Bones would come home. By lunchtime he had talked to Hodgins and Max, both of whose help he needed.

Then he'd gone to the diner to get a sandwich. Booth was sitting at the counter when his cell phone rang. It was his grandfather, and he realized they hadn't been in touch for several weeks. "Hey, Pops," he said through his mouthful. "I was meaning to call you—"

"Shrimp," he barked, "what the hell is wrong with you? You didn't even tell me Temperance had been shot! I had to hear it from Evelyn down the hall, who said it was on the news last week. Now you sit down and you tell me exactly what happened, and then I'm getting in a cab and coming over there. Tonight. So get your spare room ready."

-.-.-.-.

Pops showed up at Booth's office door about four o'clock, pulling his wheeled suitcase.

"You're early," Booth said, getting up to exchange hugs and their elaborate handshake.

"Well, you wouldn't let me go straight to see Temperance, would you?"

"You can see her tomorrow at her apartment. Actually… you might want to help me with that."

"With what?"

"I'll tell you as soon as we go. Look, Pops, I have a couple things to finish up before I leave." Booth waved a hand at his desk. "It shouldn't take more than half an hour. Then, uh… you want to come to my gym for a quick workout? You could always walk on the treadmill or something."

Pops narrowed his eyes. "I do still workout, you know. I did this _water fitness _class this morning. Lot of sissy stuff if you ask me. But I can still lift actual weight." He abandoned his suitcase in the middle of the office and made himself comfortable on one of the chairs. "I'll just wait here 'til you're ready. See, when I was a young guy, I could carry a stack of bricks or lumber that was twice my weight. Now, it's a miracle if I could lift my _age_."

-.-.-.-.

After a "non-sissy" workout, they went to Booth's apartment for dinner.

But the evening didn't start well. When they came in the door, Pops was peering around suspiciously, and Booth realized he was looking for signs of Hannah. Booth had told him very little about her, but Hank had apparently drawn his own conclusions.

He stood in the doorway to the living room and turned to Booth. "So you really dumped the tramp?"

"Pops," Booth groaned. "Don't call her that."

"Well, what am I supposed to call her? Last thing I know, you and Temperance are eating grilled cheese and playing dominoes with me. Next I hear, you've up and left for the Middle East and started seeing some blonde girl from the TV news. Someone who's not Temperance." Pops raised a finger at him. "You haven't been straight with me for months and I'm sick of it. So let's get some food on the table, and you tell me the real story."

Booth dreaded telling it. But once he got started, it was actually… cathartic. As they finished their meal, he found himself talking about Sunday night, and how confused he was by where he'd left things with Brennan.

Pops' responses were gruff, but his anger gave way to gentleness. "What did I tell you?" He shook his head. "Maybe I shouldn't have gone back to the retirement place. If I'd have been here, I could have stopped you from messing this up. Well, what's done is done." He studied Booth for a moment. "It sounds like you've hurt each other pretty good. Her not willing to take a chance, and you proving her right by leaving. But—you're young, you heal fast. So take a little time, if you need it." He got up to put his dishes in the sink, grunting at his creaking joints. Then he pointed a spoon at Booth. "Only don't wait too long. 'Cause I want to see you two together, and happy, before I kick the bucket."

"Pops, don't say that about dying. But we…" Booth stared at the tabletop. "We waited long enough already. I just don't know if…"

"Shrimp." Pops was standing in front of him. "It's okay. Because you're finally listening to what's in here." He tapped Booth's chest. "Better late than never, I say. The rest will work itself out." He clapped Booth on the shoulder. "Now, tell me about these plans for tomorrow."

-.-.-.-.

Brennan was released from the hospital about eleven a.m. on Tuesday. Her dad came to drive her home, and help carry things to the car. While she eased herself into the passenger seat, he placed items in the back: her bag of clothes, one pot of flowers that had survived the week, and the rare plant from Hodgins. Then Max got into the front, setting her bag of medications on the console between them. Inside were several sheets of instructions for drug dosage, and restrictions on her diet and activities.

As he started the car she asked, "What time did you say the nurse was coming?" Her doctors had recommended she stay at the hospital a few more days, but Max had hired someone to help her at home.

"Around eight tonight."

Brennan nodded. The nurse would stay for a couple of overnights, to assist with wound care, dressing and bathing, and to be available for anything else she might need.

Now Brennan sat in the car and simply absorbed her environment. Finally being out of the hospital—it felt like sensory overload. But invigorating, after ten days of monotony. She could smell car exhaust as they left the parking lot, greasy fast food, and wet grass at the side of the road. Birds chirped in the nearby trees, before being drowned out by traffic. Even the air on her skin felt brisk and revitalizing.

But she wasn't used to this. When they turned a corner and accelerated, her stomach lurched. Max glanced at her, and Brennan gave him a reassuring smile. He patted her knee and told her about the small gathering she could expect at her apartment.

"Everyone's taking their lunch hour to welcome you home. Now, I know you don't like this kind of thing… but there are two people who're _not _going to be there. That kid psychologist, and his girlfriend who's always on a sugar high?"

Brennan chuckled, then winced at her muscles' reaction. "Sweets and Daisy."

"They wanted to come, but Angela put her foot down. She wasn't going to subject you to their energy levels just yet." He smiled, sounding impressed. "That girl can be a real force of nature when she wants to be."

"She can. I'm lucky to have her."

"She's lucky to have you too, honey."

-.-.-.-.

When they opened the door to her apartment they were greeted by Cam, Angela, Hodgins, Booth and his grandfather. They all spoke over each other with a chorus of "There she is!" "Hey, Bren," and "Welcome home."

Angela came up to hug her, and Brennan found herself reaching for Hank, next. She was surprised and touched to find him here. But, since the last time he visited…

"You look just as lovely as ever, sweetheart," the old man told her.

Then Angela was taking her arm, asking if she felt well enough to go on a little tour. "See, here…" Angela directed her to the kitchen table. A bouquet of flowers sat in the center, large and vibrant, with about a dozen different types of flora. "Those are from Sweets, Daisy and the interns. They all chipped in, so they must've gotten the biggest one they possibly could. Now…" Angela guided Brennan into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator with a flourish. "Max and I went shopping and _voila_. All the best bland food you can eat. Soup, bread, yogurt, fruits and vegetables. All organic, too." Then Angela pointed out the popsicles in the freezer, with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I already ate a couple. The baby likes them."

"Angela's a great shopper," Max said. "All I did was add cookies to the list." He gestured at a package of snickerdoodles on the counter.

"And I wanted to make you some grilled cheese," Pops said, "but I guess you can't eat that stuff yet."

"No, my ability to digest fat and protein will be limited for some time. But I'd be glad to have one of your sandwiches once my digestive system returns to normal functioning."

Hank beamed at her, then Cam said, "Okay, I'm next." She handed Brennan a small item suspended on a bright pink ribbon. It was a flash drive, and written on it with a matching pink pen were the words _Jeff news. _"That contains highlights of the past ten days at the Jeffersonian," Cam explained. "Lectures, research, exhibits… Everything you need to keep you in the loop. And I'll be happy to update it over the next few weeks, as long as you follow orders and _don't work_ until you're in the clear."

"Those terms are acceptable." Brennan glanced down at the flash drive in her hand. "But this… it must have been a lot of work."

Cam cocked her head at Hodgins and Angela. "They helped. And it's not too much work if it keeps our best forensic anthropologist's brain happy."

Brennan noticed that Booth had been staying on the fringes of the group, but now Angela pointed meaningfully at him. He gave a secretive smile, and motioned for Hodgins to join him. Everyone moved into the living room, and Max helped Brennan sit gingerly on the sofa, before she looked up at her shelves.

"You got me a TV?"

"Yep," Booth said proudly. "With a DVD player. Hodgins helped me pick it out and move it. Pops and Max came up with a list of must-see classic movies."

"Including ones we watched when you were little, honey."

Brennan gazed at the blank screen. It wasn't obscenely large. It did fit nicely in the space, with the books and artifacts that had previously been there now occupying an adjacent shelf.

"We've got the top three movies on our list right here." Booth showed her the neat stack of DVDs resting on the coffee table next to a remote control. "And, if you get tired of drama..." He picked up two of the DVD cases. "We've got documentaries. This one, about some ancient ape person I can't pronounce. You probably know more about it than the makers of the documentary, so you can have fun criticizing them. And this one…" He held up the last box. "It's about dolphin behavior and biology."

"And, just in case the TV starts to offend your sensibilities once you're fully recovered," Hodgins said with a grin, "Angie and I would be glad to take it off your hands."

The artist nodded. "We could sell it on E-bay."

Brennan looked at them all, smiling with the surprise of their gifts. "This…" she began. "All of you. You went to so much trouble."

"Nah, it wasn't any trouble, was it, Shrimp? We had fun gallivanting around. And we only visited about ten different stores with our list." Hank gave Brennan a wink.

"Hey, it's not every day someone gets wounded in the line of duty," Cam said. "A scientist and crime fighter, who's also our friend? We just want to show that we appreciate you. For all of your talents."

"Yeah," Hodgins agreed. "We're glad to have you home, Dr. B."

Tears had come to Brennan's eyes, but for once, she didn't mind if people saw. "Thank you," she told them. "Just… thank you."

A moment later, Angela started to shoo everyone out. Brennan didn't know if it was because their lunch hour was ending, or because Angela wanted to give her some privacy while she cried.

"Yep, you too," the artist was saying. "Move it."

"But I'm her father," Max protested. "I'm staying all day, until the nurse gets here."

"Oh, all right…"

"Just let me use the john first," Hank said. "Shrimp, you wait for me in the car."

"In the car? Pops—"

"Would you do what I tell you for once? Go on." He left Angela to herd the others outside, and turned to shuffle down the hallway. Brennan, meanwhile, pretended not to notice her father moving surreptitiously into the kitchen and taking a few cookies from the package of snickerdoodles.

Angela returned and sat down on the couch. Brennan was wiping a few tears from her face, and Angela patted her shoulder. "What did you expect, Sweetie? We love you."

She was quiet for a while, keeping a hand on Brennan's arm. Then she said, "Did you want to watch one of the DVDs? _I'd_ like to see some of those old movies. Oh, but there's one more surprise. In your bedroom. Are you up for walking another twenty steps?"

"Of course." Brennan let her lead the way, and when they got to the room, she noticed folded laundry on a chair and fresh linens on the bed: surely Angela's handiwork. A vase of daffodils stood on the bedside table, a small but beautiful assortment in yellow, white and peach.

On her pillow rested a little plush dolphin, and she had to walk over to pick it up. The fabric was extremely soft, and the colors accurate: blue-gray dorsal surface, white ventral surface. The animal had bead eyes and a smiling mouth. Brennan stroked its back. "Did my dad get this for me?"

In the hallway, Pops cleared his throat. "That little critter is from Seeley and me. The flowers too." Brennan gestured for him to come in, and he stood by the foot of the bed. "Because I told him, I said, you should really get a lady flowers if you're showing up at her place for a big occasion. Not that this is the best occasion I could think of."

Angela was glancing between the two of them with a gushy smile. "Isn't that sweet, honey?"

Pops gestured at the stuffed animal. "We were in one of those stores looking for movies—I forget which store—and it caught my eye. Then when Seeley told me you liked dolphins, well—that was it. This little thing was coming home with us."

"Thank you, Hank." Brennan looked down at the dolphin. "It is very cute."

"I'm staying with Seeley for a week or two," Pops went on. "We have some catching up to do. Parker too. He said he'd show me some game he likes to play on the computer. Just what I need at my age, right?"

"Oh, you never know," Angela said. "Could be fun."

"I don't think so," he growled. "But I'll let you get some rest now, Temperance." He retreated to the doorway. "Getting shot, that takes it right out of you. I caught a bullet in the arm when I was an MP, you know. Just a flesh wound, no big deal. And not as exciting a story as the one you have. But it's worth telling, if you're up for it. I'll visit again soon, okay?"

"I… I'd like that." Brennan hesitated, because she remembered Hank's words the last time. He'd entrusted her with hidden family information. And he'd said, _It all goes by so fast. You don't want any regrets. _

She hadn't listened to him. Now she sat down carefully on the side of the bed, because all that standing was making her ache.

But Hank wasn't saying goodbye. She looked up, and saw the old man's gaze turn intent, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening. It reminded her of the way Booth could—or used to—know what she was thinking.

"Sweetheart, if I had my way, you and my grandson would be all settled down by now. With maybe a couple of kids. But I'm not here to badger you about what did or didn't happen. I just want to keep you company. I'm old, right? I've had bypass surgery. I've had too _many _surgeries. I know what it's like to sit in a room and be bored out of my skull. So why don't you and me focus on _not _being bored, together. Okay?"

Brennan held the dolphin close to her chest, and smiled. "Okay."


	19. Stories and Dreams

**A/N: **Yes, this chapter is too short. No, I don't have a good excuse. There's a B/B scene right around the corner, but I'd rather work on it for next week, not rush it.

**Part 19  
**

Brennan slept through the majority of her first few days at home. It was easy, since her apartment felt so peaceful compared to the hospital. She still didn't sleep for more than two hours at a stretch, but could doze off again, and finally felt more rested.

Except for the nightmares. Those half-remembered dreams from the hospital had now become clear. In every one, she was back in that barn, facing off with Dawes. It didn't seem logical that something that had taken so little time—entering the barn and shooting him—should now take up so much space in her mind. But she tried not to think about it when she was awake.

When Brennan wasn't catching up on sleep, she read the Jeffersonian news from Cam and watched old movies with her dad. He and Angela both visited regularly, staying about half the day. Sometimes they would accompany her when she went out for brief exercise, to walk up and down the hallway or around the courtyard of her apartment. Every other day, Max drove her to a D.C. hospital, where her records had been transferred, so she could undergo tests to check her liver function. And at night she had the nurse to care for her wound and help with routine tasks.

Booth would call frequently, and Pops lived up to his promise to tell stories. He would sit with her in the living room, reciting tales of war, romance, adventure—and about Booth when he was young. One afternoon, Brennan rested on the couch with a blanket over her legs, while Hank held court in the adjacent chair.

"And then there was the time I found him crying because of some book he read. One of those boy-and-dog stories, where the dog dies at the end? Poor Seeley never saw it coming. Well, he didn't want to admit it shook him up like that. But I just hugged him and told him to come toss a baseball with me. I don't know if it was because his no-good father wouldn't let him have a dog… or if he'd have smacked the boys if he saw them crying." Hank let out his breath in a sound of guilt or derision, and changed topics.

"We didn't have much of a backyard, but it was big enough for two boys to play in. He and Jared…" He shook his head, not quite smiling. "You know that scar Shrimp has, about here?" He gestured at his hip bone. "Got that playing soldier with Jared. Seeley was bigger and stronger, you know, so Jared thought he needed some kind of advantage. They had these big sticks to use as swords or bayonets, and while they're tussling, he went ahead and poked Seeley with it. Turns out it had a really sharp point on it. So I heard them yelling bloody murder and I ran outside. There's my Shrimp lying in the grass bleeding. He was more surprised than hurt, but it almost gave me a heart attack—and I was thirty years younger than I am now. Because I tell you… seeing someone you love, lying there like that…"

Brennan couldn't help thinking of Booth, and a gunshot at a karaoke club. "What happened?"

"I maybe should've taken him to get stitches. But it wasn't that bad a cut. I patched him up myself. And I had Jared scrubbing a _lot _of dishes as punishment, let me tell you."

Brennan thought that if Sweets were here, he'd wonder if Hank had meant to give her some message. _Seeing someone you love bleeding like that… _Could it be about Booth's response to her injury? But Hank was a direct man. He was doing what he said: keeping her company, not "badgering" her about relationships.

Brennan let herself forget about it, smiling as Pops began the story of how he'd met Booth's grandmother.

-.-.-.-.

The first nightmare brought the nurse running into Brennan's bedroom.

It was only her second night at home. She'd woken up once, then fallen back asleep, to find herself alone in that barn. Well, not alone—Ingrid was there, tied to a post. And Dawes had another victim. He'd caught Cam's daughter Michelle, and unless Brennan could stop him, he would hurt both of them.

As she'd done the first time, she ordered him to drop his weapon. She advanced over the straw-littered floor—but before she knew it, before she'd even heard the gunshot, she was wounded. The pain made a fiery brand, paralyzing her. But she could still move her arms to shoot back. Brennan pulled the trigger—Dawes kept coming. She aimed and fired again, but the bullets—they weren't hitting him. His gaze fixed on her, head lowered like a bull about to charge. She couldn't move, couldn't defend herself or the girls. In another second he would be on top of her—

She must have cried out before jerking awake. The overhead light blinded her as the nurse, Serena, hurried into the room.

Brennan lay on her back, panting. "Just a dream. It's okay."

But Serena was sitting next to the bed, taking her wrist to check her pulse. She asked Brennan to rate her level of pain, which was diminishing as she got her breathing back under control. She tried to shake off the remnants of the dream, feeling her pulse throb under the nurse's fingers. Her muscles burned as though she'd been running.

Serena helped her rearrange the pillow under her knees to keep pressure off her ab muscles. Then she said, "Why don't I stay and keep you company for a while?"

Brennan nodded in relief. She hadn't been sleeping through the night, and didn't want to lie awake in the dark now.

She started by seeking an explanation for the dream. It could be a side effect of medication, they agreed; and the vividness might be due to the better quality rest she was getting now, with longer periods of REM sleep.

The discussion moved on from there, with Serena doing most of the talking, about movies, weather, and the medical profession. When Brennan began to get drowsy, the nurse dimmed the light and offered to stay. "I'll just read my smutty romance novel, okay?"

Closing her eyes, Brennan thought sleepily of Angela. She might read a book like that. Or she would say, "See, Sweetie, there's no way you can have bad dreams if someone named _Serena _is in the room."

-.-.-.-.

**A/N: **Random Bones-related thing I just have to mention: Remember Hodgins getting compartment syndrome in Aliens in a Spaceship? He had the acute, emergency kind. I recently found out there's a chronic, exertional kind, because I think I got it from running. Not as bad as his, but pretty weird. Therefore, no running for a while. Poor me. And Hodgins.


	20. Time

**A/N: **Thanks to la mome for reading.

I hope none of this feels like the kind of stalling tactics TPTB have used on this season of the show. But B&B aren't ready to fall right into bed together. Yet.

(OMG the show last night! Please don't let your incoherence over that prevent you from maybe leaving me a comment, okay? :)

**Part 20  
**

Later that week, Booth dropped by after work. He must have just come from the gym, Brennan thought, since he wore jeans and a t-shirt, his hair was still damp from the shower… and he smelled wonderful.

"Hey, Bones. I thought I'd trade you some new movies for the ones that are due back." He held up two DVD boxes. "As long as you had a chance to watch the first ones…?"

She opened the door wider to let him in. "Yes, my dad and I finished them today. And I made sure to keep the rented ones in a separate pile."

After he'd presented her with the first batch of movies, he'd said, "I didn't know if you'd want to rent or own them. But I figure, you have such a good memory, you don't need to watch anything twice. And I don't want to start cluttering up your house with pop culture. But the dolphin one, that's yours to keep. Gotta be worth a second viewing, right?" She had smiled and agreed with him.

Now, while Booth replaced the old movies with new ones on the coffee table, she asked if he'd like to stay for dinner. "I was just heating up some of the vegetable soup from Angela."

"Is that what smells so good? Yeah, thanks, Bones. Pops is taking Parker bowling tonight, and I don't have to pick them up for at least an hour."

Brennan wondered why he wasn't with them. She started to say, 'I hope you're not missing that family time just to bring me movies,' but stopped herself. A voice that sounded like Angela's told her, _Don't sell yourself short. It's not so strange if he wants to come see you. So don't argue, honey. Enjoy it._

Once they'd settled themselves at the kitchen table, Brennan looked for his verdict on the healthy soup. "Does it taste as good as it smells?"

He looked reluctant to tell the truth. "Not really. It's kind of bland. Could use some salt."

"Booth, do you know how much salt the average American consumes in a week? Sodium is added to almost every prepared food, and can have all sorts of negative impacts on—"

"Okay, I know. I'm actually starting to tell Pops the same thing."

They exchanged faint smiles, and Brennan thought he might be as relieved as she was, that they could be normal with each other. It was like they'd agreed to ignore—for now—the things they'd said in the hospital on Sunday.

They talked about Hank for a while, and Booth seemed both curious and suspicious about what Pops had said to her. Brennan mentioned some of the stories he'd told, and Booth groaned to hear the ones about him. "He's going to be showing you the bare-assed baby pictures before I know it."

She smiled innocently. "What would be wrong with that?"

Booth chuckled, but then shot her a more penetrating glance. She looked away, rather than go on teasing him about the intimate details Pops may or may not have shared.

_If you want to know something, just ask him. _Angela's voice again. The artist had been dropping hints, during those hours she spent here. Hints about Booth, and about Brennan's feelings, now that Hannah was out of the picture. But Angela hadn't pushed the issue—yet.

Brennan watched her partner break off a piece of bread and then drizzle olive oil over it. She watched the muscles along his mandible while he chewed.

Her wariness from a few days ago had faded somewhat. She still believed the break-up with Hannah was her fault. But she didn't feel ready for the next questions. Would Booth move on again? Would she be able to let him?

_Sweetie, you better snap him up before someone else does. Don't wait!_

Brennan glanced at the clock, then got up, stiffly, to take her scheduled dose of medication. Booth got to his feet, too, wanting to help, but sank down when he saw she wasn't going very far. "That looks like a really complicated schedule." He nodded at the chart resting next to the prescription bottles on the counter.

"It might be, if it wasn't so well planned. Between my father and the nurse, I didn't have to do anything." She gestured at the page. "Which medication to take with food or without, and how frequently, and the time for each dose." She wrote down the current time, then returned to the table, to pick up her water glass and swallow the pills.

Booth watched her sit carefully back down. "So how are you doing, Bones? How's the scar?"

"You know it will need a good deal more healing before that term actually applies. But I'm getting the stitches removed tomorrow, and then next week, starting some gentle physical therapy. Though I won't be allowed any abdominal exercise for another several weeks."

Booth winced in sympathy. "That kind of injury, they don't want to risk splitting anything open." He took a sip of water. "Hey, why don't I stay until the nurse gets here? Just in case."

"I'm fine, Booth. This is the last night a nurse is even coming."

He frowned. "You still shouldn't be alone, Bones. What if something happened?"

Angela would have smiled and said, _Are you offering to stay?_ "Nothing is going to happen. But my dad can stay. Or Angela."

"Well… if neither of them can make it, then I'll stay." He said it firmly, but Brennan thought she heard hesitation. He was only doing what a friend and partner would do, right? Things were still too strange between them, that he might not feel comfortable offering, or she in accepting.

"No arguing, Bones." He smiled, to avoid sounding too strict. "Better safe than sorry."

Brennan didn't want to argue. But she didn't think his help would be necessary.

Then she asked about the tasks he'd been doing at the Bureau this week. "So, the Dawes case is officially closed?" She hadn't heard much about the FBI's findings, since at first she'd been too medicated and then too preoccupied with coming home from the hospital.

"Yep. Closed." Booth had already told her some of the details during phone conversations, like Ingrid's side of the story: how Dawes had caught her one day after school. "The first two girls," Booth said now, "were definitely taken to that barn. So the FBI techs confirmed what your squints already found. And Dawes _was _working alone, so there's no one else to track down. Seems like he took a lot of time planning the kidnap and torture, but a lot less time planning how to get rid of the bodies. And that's good for us, because someone stumbled across them. And we caught the son of a bitch. I mean…" He seemed to pull himself back. "Your squints did."

"We all did." Brennan held his gaze. "With investigation and forensics."

He nodded as though to thank her. But she knew the guilt was there, and wanted to say something to relieve it. Instead, she watched him.

While he'd been speaking, Brennan felt she was seeing with a new perspective. Booth was still the boy from Hank's stories. The boy who'd cried about a fictional dog… now he advised her to help Angela save a piglet from the slaughterhouse. He brought home a plush dolphin to cheer her up.

Brennan watched the muscles shifting in his forearms, as he scraped the last bites of vegetable from his bowl. The rough and tumble kid playing at war with his brother… now he taught young soldiers. He solved real crimes, to make the world safer.

But their partnership, now… "Booth—I haven't decided anything, about when I go back to the lab. I think I'll continue working crimes. But going out in the field… I don't want you to be alone out there, and yet…"

Booth seemed to be listening very hard. "You've got some time to think about it."

"Yes." She forced her voice to levity. "But I might not have much choice. Angela says she won't let me out of her sight, and that you probably won't either."

"No." There was no trace of joking in his voice. "I won't."

-.-.-.-.

Booth was helping her clear the table when his cell phone rang. He went across the room to pull it from his jacket. "Ah—just what I thought. Sweets." And he dropped it back into the pocket.

"You're letting it go to voicemail?"

"I sure as hell am. The kid won't leave me alone. He's been calling twice a day, insisting that, _because of recent events_, it's vital that we talk. And—wait, has he been calling you too?"

"Yes. But I believe he was calling as a friend inquiring about my health. _And _suggesting that if I wanted to talk about anything, of course he would be available."

"Hm. He's being gentle on you while you're convalescing. No such luck for me. Because, after an on-the-job shooting, or my break-up with Hannah… you just know he's dying to delve into all that, and what it means for our partnership." Booth came back to the kitchen and started rinsing their dishes, while Brennan leaned against the counter.

"Maybe it would help for you to talk to him."

He looked at her like she was crazy, and she relented. "I still hate psychology. I just thought…"

"I'm not conflicted, Bones. I know what I—and I don't need Sweets to mess it up for me."

His tone made her pay very close attention. Even though he seemed focused on his task, now opening the dishwasher and loading their utensils into it… She couldn't miss the intensity of that halted sentence.

You know _what_, Booth?

She cursed herself for not being bold enough to ask. But she realized how heavily she was leaning against the counter, her muscles suddenly telling her they'd done enough today.

Booth closed the dishwasher and turned to her. He saw right away that she was tired. "Come on," he said. "Couch for you."

She let him brace her arm while she walked over and lowered herself onto the cushions. "Sweets is just worried," he said. "Always looking for hidden emotion or post traumatic stress just because we go through some hard things at work. But this time, I sort of agree with him. I mean, about you." She frowned, and Booth said, "From what I saw, it seems like you're eating all right? Sleeping all right?"

"Yes…" It wasn't quite a lie. "As well as my current state of recovery will allow." She pushed irritably at the pillow behind her.

For once, Booth seemed content to let the topic go. He dropped into a chair, and started talking about the old movies he had brought.

It wasn't long before Serena arrived. Tonight was her shift again; she'd been alternating with another nurse. Brennan introduced her to Booth, who smiled and said, "I guess I'll leave her in your capable hands."

The three of them exchanged polite words, and then he was at the door. But Brennan called him back. "Booth?"

He turned, sliding his arms into the jacket. Despite his cheerfulness a moment ago, he looked somehow lonely.

She took a breath. "We should probably… talk. About us. And what we said at the hospital. But—not yet. I need a little time."

Did he look surprised, that she had brought it up? But his eyes were somber. "Yeah, we can talk later. And maybe… I need some time too."

"But I don't—I won't wait too long. Hank and Angela are reminding me…" She glanced away, then back at Booth. "As long as… you're not meaning to go anywhere, anytime soon?" She wasn't sure if she meant it literally.

"No, Bones. I'll be here." He paused. "Will _you _be here? There aren't any big famous digs starting up, in some godforsaken jungle?"

Brennan gestured at herself and the couch. "I'm in no condition to go anywhere. I'll be right here. With your movies to make things more interesting."

His eyes smiled at her, as he put a hand on the doorknob.

"I'm sorry," she said abruptly. "You're always the one who has to wait for me. The one who has to… soften the truth or be considerate of my feelings. If I'm not—strong enough, or not ready. But that… It's not fair to you."

Booth had that still, listening quality about him again. He studied her for what seemed like a long time. "Don't say you're not strong, Bones. Besides…" His mouth curved in a tender, wry smile. "I'm pretty sure you've done the same for me. More times than I've been aware of it."

Then he turned to leave, closing the door softly behind him.


	21. Promise you won't ignore it

**A/N: **Thanks to jsq for the brainstorming I plan to use in future chapters. A couple reviews might've escaped my reply last time, like Ficalicious who had the private message feature disabled. I didn't mean to skip you, and thanks for commenting!

**Part 21  
**

By the end of Brennan's first week at home, things were starting to get easier.

Now that the stitches had been removed, she felt less discomfort around her wound. She still needed to examine it, on days she didn't go to the hospital, for any changes that could signal problems. She noticed that the medial half of the incision had sealed itself better than the lateral portion, which looked a bit messy. But the nurses were satisfied with the rate of healing. They had also provided gauze dressings and waterproof covers, so Brennan could finally take a shower. That first day standing under the warm spray, water flooding down her skin and hair, had felt like heaven.

Each day she could walk slightly farther, if not faster. At the beginning of her second week, she started with physical therapy. The gentle resistance exercises told her how weak and limited her body still was. And while she had to avoid anything that would engage her core muscles, the activity felt good.

Brennan had to postpone the next PT session, however, because of abdominal pain that developed one evening. Angela was staying with her that night—which was also when Booth happened to call. Brennan sat curled on the couch when Angela brought her the phone.

It took him about two minutes to sense something wasn't right. "Are you okay, Bones?"

"Yes." She sighed. "No. I'm experiencing some discomfort. It's most likely a buildup of gas or fluid in the abdomen. Not uncommon after surgery. Angela's making peppermint tea, which is supposed to help."

"You're in pain, though?"

"Some."

He urged her to get checked at the hospital, just in case. "How sure are you about what's causing it?"

"Relatively sure. I will go, if it doesn't get any better."

"You sound like me when I had that toothache. And it only got better because someone socked me in the jaw and knocked it out."

"There won't be much that doctors can do," Brennan pointed out. "Just wait and allow the body to go through its natural healing process."

"Well… Promise me you won't ignore it if it gets worse."

"I promise."

Angela had come into the living room to hand Brennan a mug of hot tea, relieving her of the phone in the same motion. "Don't worry, Booth, I'm not going to let her suffer in silence. One phone call and Hodgins will be here in his fastest car. We can be at the hospital in five minutes."

Booth said something that made her smile, before she gave the phone back to Brennan.

"So, Bones, do you want me to distract you with talk about crime and punishment?"

"Please do."

"It looks like someone dug up an old murder victim, but the two of us are missing out. Hacker put Perotta on the case. She might take Wendall out in the field, if she has to take anyone." He paused. "Perotta and Wendall. Just doesn't have the same ring as Booth and Brennan, does it?"

"No, it doesn't." Then, feeling she needed to say something else, she asked if Cam would send her scans of the victim's remains. "Just because I'm confined to my home doesn't mean I can't be of some assistance. But why doesn't Andrew want you on the case?"

He hesitated. "Hacker and Sweets have decided that I need counseling before I go back to solving murders. Even if I didn't do anything wrong that they can document… and even if I'm not sure I want to. They're going to require you to go, too. Anything big happens on the job, you have to spend time with the Bureau shrink."

Brennan would have to ask him about _I'm not sure I want to_. Instead she said, "So Sweets does have a professional reason for pestering us with phone calls."

"Yeah. But I don't think we're required to go to _him_, just someone."

"Wouldn't he be offended if we chose someone else?"

"Probably. Hey, that's nice of you, Bones. I think you have a secret soft spot for the kid."

"Well, if I do, then you do."

"We might as well go to him," Booth said with exaggerated reluctance. "Separately, to begin with—they weren't clear about that. Besides, Gordon Gordon is off in Europe cooking for a duke or someone."

"He _is_ a chef now, not a psychologist."

"So he keeps telling us. Hey, do you want me to remind Cam to send you the victim's x-rays? She said she wants to keep your brain happy… and I'd like to help."

"Yes, thank you."

"Wendall and Perotta." It sounded like he was shaking his head. "How much do you wanna bet, they're not going to solve it without us?"

"Booth, we shouldn't gamble on something like that." Despite the doubts they both seemed to share about murder cases, Brennan couldn't help laughing at the deliberate arrogance in his tone. "You're right. They don't have years of successful partnership behind them."

"I'll let you get some rest," Booth said, "but I want to talk to Angela for a minute, okay?"

Brennan handed over the phone. Booth must still have been worried, because Angela listened and replied, "I won't. …I'm taking good care of her. As good as you would. …Does that mean I've forgiven you? Yeah, I guess I have. As long as you keep on not screwing this up."

-.-.-.-.

The next morning, Booth and Hank appeared on Brennan's doorstep.

Angela let them in, while Brennan nibbled on toast in the kitchen. She hadn't been able to eat much, and hadn't slept well, either. The pain never got worse, but was uncomfortable enough to prevent her from real rest.

Now she heard Booth quizzing Angela about her well being. "She says she's okay," the artist answered. "'Pain is staying within tolerable levels.' But you can ask her yourself. I've gotta go, Bren. I'll call you later."

The door closed behind her, and the two men came into the kitchen.

"I just wanted to check on you before I went to work," Booth explained.

"And I thought I'd spend a little more time here," Hank said. "I have to go back to the retirement place pretty soon. So I figured…" He held up a wooden box of dominoes. "I'd teach you how to kick Seeley's ass, for the next time."

She smiled, and told Hank he was welcome to stay with her.

Before Booth left, he fixed both of them with a stern look. "Remember what I said, Pops? You call me—either of you—if you need _any_thing."

"I know, I know." Hank rolled his eyes at Brennan. "The kid's like a mother hen sometimes."

Later, the two of them went out for a walk. It was cold and drizzling, so they stayed on the sidewalks and courtyard near her apartment.

"I don't believe it," Hank said. "I'm old, but I have to slow down for _you_." He eyed her, while shoving his hands in his pockets to warm them. "How are you doing, sweetheart?"

"The pain is still there, but I think walking helps a little. I _am _slower than I was the other day."

"Well." Hank patted her arm. "Pretty soon you'll be back to full strength, and then you can run circles around me as fast as Parker."

Max called to check on her at lunch time, and in the afternoon she and Hank both took naps in the living room. She must have dozed longer than he did, because she woke to find him watching her.

He sat on a nearby chair holding his jacket. A science journal rested on his lap, but he wasn't reading it. Brennan thought his expression seemed… soft. And perceptive, like he was thinking a lot more than he was saying. "I didn't want to cut out while you were asleep. But I should get moving." Hank pushed himself to his feet. "Need to pick up some food before I meet Shrimp at work. Then we're going to his gym, so I can prove to the youngsters I'm not dead yet.

"Now, are you okay for the night? Your dad's coming?"

Brennan nodded. "Thank you, Hank." She watched him walk to the door. He wore a pale blue cardigan that Angela said was part of the "standard old person wardrobe."

Hank was zipping his coat when she called him again. She didn't know she was going to say it until that moment. "I never knew my grandparents. But I'm very glad to have you. And—I'm finally taking your advice. I mean, I'm not going to wait, or have regrets. You told me, don't be afraid, and I'm not, anymore." His eyes studied her with a canny gleam. "Well… I am afraid. But—I'm going to tell Booth. And ask him. I need the truth, even if it's going to hurt."

"Well, that's good." Hank sounded gruff, but his gaze was gentle. "I don't think it will hurt. You trust me on this. I think you've already been through the worst." He tipped his head down to indicate her injury. But she didn't think he meant the physical kind.

-.-.-.-.

That night, Brennan had a memorable dream.

It was very different from the scenes she'd been experiencing. These recurred once or twice a week, with slight variations. Each time, she was back in that barn, with someone she couldn't save. Ingrid, or Michelle. Once, Angela. They were tied, crying with fear, while Dawes threatened. Brennan tried to fight or shoot, but found herself bleeding, helpless.

But the worst was when she wasn't alone. The last time, Booth appeared in the dream. He preceded her into the barn, and she knew that logically, Booth should go first. He was an excellent shot. He would take the criminal down, and everyone would be safe.

But that's not what she knew would happen. Dawes was going to shoot someone, and Booth could not go first. Brennan had to warn him, had to stop him. But the next thing she knew, he was falling. She hurried to catch him, tripping over something like the edge of a stage, but it was too late. Booth sprawled on the ground and she fell next to him; his blood welled under her fingers and she couldn't slow it. She had to keep him here, with her. "Booth… Booth!" She could hear both their breath, gasping. They were alone, no help was coming, and she couldn't watch this happen again.

Brennan would wake in a panic, her side aching from the increased respiration. Booth is fine, she would tell herself. He's safe, and he's going to stay that way. She just wished she could believe it.

Tonight, the dream was different. No barn, and no danger. Just Booth.

She stood in a grassy field lined with trees. She didn't know where she'd come from or where she was going, but it didn't matter. Booth walked up to meet her through the tall grass, and took her hand. He smiled, and so did she, and then they were running together. The sky was blue overhead and the grass brushed her legs and she thought with wonder, _I'm running. I'm running and nothing hurts. This must be a dream, then. I should enjoy it while it lasts._

She could move freely for the first time. No limit, no pain cinching her muscles. Just lightness and freedom.

Freedom, and Booth, and running. With the green leaves of trees, and the golden seed heads of rippling grass. They ran together through the field, and there was nothing to fear or misunderstand.

Just Booth beside her, laughing.

Brennan woke with tears on her face. She stared into the darkness, feeling her heart beating hard, her chest full of emotion.

The possibilities this dream offered—they stunned her. She longed for them.

Ever since she'd woken up in the hospital, she had seen evidence of Booth's feelings. Evidence that he cared about her. But was it the way he cared for someone like Cam, once the flush of romance was ended? Was it that love for an old friend and colleague… or something more intense?

There was one way to find out.

She was right, to tell Hank she wouldn't wait anymore. Brennan snuggled deeper under the covers, taking a breath as if in relief.

She would talk to Booth. This week.


	22. 3am

**A/N: **Thank you to doctorsuez for the medical advice that supported my plot idea (yay!) and to jsq for the last-minute reading and reassurances.

**Part 22  
**

Booth readily accepted the invitation to watch a movie Thursday night.

Brennan discovered, that day, the rather large difference between resolving to tell him her feelings, and finding the words to actually do it. She wanted to map out what to say, without sounding scripted. She wanted to be clear and direct, without sounding like she was giving a lecture.

As she went about her daily routine, she tried coming up with practice phrases. But none of them seemed to fit.

Booth put a high value on spontaneity and going with his gut. Maybe she would do that, today. After all, too much of her life had been safe and well-plotted. Perhaps Booth needed more evidence that she could change and take risks.

Yes, she would plan the day and time, but not the words or opportunity to speak them. That, she would leave up to the moment, and her questionable intuition. Which just might not be so bad, where Booth was concerned.

-.-.-.-.

He arrived exactly on time. She welcomed him inside, noting that they had both chosen clothing one step above casual movie-night attire. Booth wore jeans and a black shirt buttoned over a white tee, while she had gone with a green t-shirt and a soft jacket from Angela.

Brennan offered a beverage to begin with, showing him the case of beer in her refrigerator.

"Bones, you have my favorite beer?" He took a bottle, looking very pleased.

They chatted in the kitchen while she made tea for herself, and she wondered, Was that so surprising? She used to stock a few of his favorites—before. When they would stop at her apartment, or his, to celebrate closing a case, to do paperwork over takeout, or even for no reason at all.

Now Booth led the way into the living room. As he got the DVD set up, he asked, "You had another PT session today? Does that mean the pain you were feeling a couple days ago is gone?"

Brennan maneuvered the footstool to an ideal position by the sofa. "Mostly gone, yes." Then, at Booth's fretful expression she said, "It's much better. And it felt good to have some exercise, although I was very tired afterward."

"Well, it's hard work, all that internal healing." He took his place next to her on the couch, and she let him keep possession of the remote control. Movie previews started to play on the screen, but apparently he wasn't finished worrying about her. "Didn't your doctors say you should wait another week or so before starting any exercise?"

"One of them did, yes. But another said it was up to me. As long as I was patient and didn't try to do too much." Brennan suddenly found herself too warm, and squirmed around to peel off the jacket.

"You okay, there?"

"Just a little overheated."

"Ah. You should have cold beer, not hot tea."

She glared at him while he took a long swallow, then reached out and said, "Let me have a sip."

"Bones, even I know you're not supposed to have alcohol. Not when you're on opiates for pain medication, _and _you just lost a chunk of your liver."

"I did not _lose a chunk of it_, I merely had a wound track repaired. And I'm taking a much smaller dose of medication. Soon I won't need anything but ibuprofen." Booth still showed no sign of offering her the beer, so she reached for it again. "One sip won't kill me."

He handed it over with a dubious look on his face. She swallowed, considered, and made a face. "Just as well. It doesn't taste good to me right now."

Booth had a half smile on his face. "I should probably come over regularly, to drink the rest. Just so you won't be tempted."

"Oh, that's all right. My dad likes this beer, too." She mirrored his jocularity without thinking, and then wished she'd been serious. Maybe this was the opportunity she'd been waiting for. _You can come over anytime you like, Booth… _

But now he pointed at the screen, changing the subject. "Oh, look—I actually want to see this one. And don't tell me it's too low-brow, because it got pretty good reviews."

The movie started a moment later, and they settled in to watch. The plot turned out to be quite funny. Brennan had to hold her side and say, "If this gets any more amusing, I'll have to stop watching. It hurts to laugh!" She almost rolled her eyes at the predictable lines on Booth's forehead, whenever she mentioned her symptoms. "But," she added, "studies have shown that laughter is an excellent way to promote health and healing, so I'm sure it all balances out."

-.-.-.-.

Booth watched her surreptitiously, in the flickering light of the TV screen. Bones seemed a little odd tonight. Were her eyes lingering on him too long? Were her cheeks too pink and her eyes too bright, like she actually had been drinking? He should've been glad to see a healthy flush on her skin, after all that hospital pallor. But he wasn't sure it _was _positive.

He was debating whether to ask her about it, when she fell asleep halfway through the movie. First she'd slouched a little lower on the sofa, resting her head against the back. When he glanced over a few minutes later, she was out like a light. It must be fatigue from the week, or effects of the day's exercise and medication.

He watched her overtly now. Her head was bowed to one side on the cushion. One arm draped across her lap, and her long legs were crossed on the footstool. She looked sound asleep, barely even stirring when the soundtrack changed abruptly in volume.

"Bones?" he tried softly. Nothing.

Now what should he do? The movie was interesting but he had no strong desire to finish it. He glanced at the clock, stifling a yawn. He could sleep, himself. I'll just stay, he thought. But it's not good for either of us to sleep on a couch.

"Bones?" He leaned over and touched her shoulder, expecting her to wake up and insist they finish the movie. "Come on, let's get you to bed." She made a sound in her throat, but didn't open her eyes.

"Sorry, but you can't sleep here. Come on…" He touched her more confidently, sliding her feet gently off the footstool, then getting one arm around her shoulders. Her eyes fluttered open this time, but she was far from alert, and he wondered if he'd have to carry her. She got her legs under her, however, and he half-lifted her off the couch. Fearing he would put too much stress on her healing muscles, he held his breath, but she stayed completely peaceful. They headed down the hall with faltering steps.

Booth managed to pull back the covers on her bed with one hand, then ease her down. She lay down immediately, with a little grimace at the motion. He helped get her legs onto the mattress, then watched her turn her face into the pillow and seemingly fall right back into sleep.

He felt a moment of uncertainty about letting her stay in her clothes. But the t-shirt and pants looked comfortable enough. So he drew the blankets over her, pausing to brush some hair away from her cheek. Leaning low, he whispered, "I'll just stay in the guest room, okay, Bones? As long as you don't kick my ass about it when you wake up."

She sighed, deep and peaceful, and he could swear he heard her mumble, "Thanks, Booth."

-.-.-.-.

Brennan was startled awake in the early hours of the morning. Had she heard something? Her bedroom door stood open, and the sound had come from across the hall. Was it Booth? She lay still, her heart beating fast, and then she heard it again.

"_No_," he moaned, full of horror and dread. "No, no, no!"

Brennan threw back the blanket and tumbled out of bed faster than she'd thought possible. She hurried down the hall and into the open doorway of the guest room, hitting the light switch at the same time. Then she clung to the doorframe to catch her breath and let her eyes adjust.

Booth sat up in bed, panting. He put a hand up to his face at the sudden onslaught of light, while his eyes scanned the room as though searching for danger or recalling where he was.

"Booth," she said. "It's okay. You had a bad dream."

His gaze found her, disbelieving. The next second he jumped out of bed, crossed the floor, and wrapped her in his arms.

He was gasping for breath against her hair, and all she could do was hold on. She touched the back of his neck, damp with sweat. He smelled like he'd been working outside amid tangy soil and grass.

One arm gripped her around the waist while the other claimed her shoulders, and he spoke brokenly above her ear. "It wasn't real…"

Now his hand cupped her head, sliding down to the side of her throat. Fingers pressed into her flesh with uncomfortable force, and she realized he was finding her pulse point. There, where the carotid artery lay between muscle and cartilage.

"God, I thought you were dead. I was too late…"

"Shh, no, it wasn't real." Brennan stroked his neck and hairline, feeling the short strands shift under her palm.

His fingers kept pressing into her throat, and she understood: He needs evidence. And then, with a kind of wonder, He needs _me_.

Booth's other hand splayed low across her back, keeping her tight against his hard chest and abs.

It was almost frightening, this urgency. But she returned it. She did.

Gradually, his breathing slowed, and his fingers stopped digging into the pulse at her neck. He shuddered, and let go.

"I'm sorry. I didn't hurt you…?"

"I'm fine, Booth." He was wiping his eyes and looking at the floor, so she guided him to the bed, where they sat down side by side.

He wore boxers and a white undershirt that hinted at his perfect acromion. Brennan was suddenly reminded of Pops saying, _He's big and strong. But he's going to need someone. Everyone needs someone._

She rested her hand next to his on the blanket and said, "Do you want to tell me about it?"

Booth met her eyes for a second. His head made a negative motion, but after a moment he said, "I had others, before. But this one… You were in that barn, and it was the worst. I tried but—I got there too late. There was blood and I—I couldn't…"

She knew exactly how he felt. She wanted to _show _him how much she understood. But now he shook his head, trying to laugh at himself. "Sorry I woke you up. Who'd have thought beer and funny movies would do that to me, huh?"

Brennan forced herself to take his lead, sounding calm and restrained. "I have dreams too. I believe they're just the way that our subconscious goes over the different risks and possibilities, once the danger is over."

Booth had taken a tissue from the bedside table. "Thanks, Dr. Sweets." He blew his nose loudly, as if to emphasize the sarcasm.

"It's not psychology," she argued. "It's a natural response to fear. Other animals rely on instinct, the same fight or flight response that humans possess. But we also have the cognitive ability to analyze situations, so we can learn from them and improve our responses, to minimize danger the next time."

He watched her with a trace of amusement. "Okay, _anthro_pology. Not psychology. But…" His voice decreased in power. "What were your dreams about?"

She took a breath, then described them, briefly. "Very similar to yours. I'm either alone in the barn, with Ingrid, or someone else…"

Booth looked sick at the thought of others being held prisoner. "Angela?" he repeated. "Parker?"

"Once, yes." She tried to go on, steadily. "Or else I'm with you. And Dawes—he shoots you instead of me. I know it's going to happen and I can't stop it. I can only… watch."

He sat without looking at her. "So, what you're saying is… we're having the same dream?"

"Essentially, yes. Booth…" She couldn't wait any longer. She was about to reach for him, or beg him to meet her gaze, when he looked up.

"What do you think that means, Bones?" They held each other's eyes, and she could have kissed him for giving her this opportunity.

-.-.-.-.

Booth marveled at the expression he was seeing. Bones looked… glowing and scared and resolved.

She shifted position, so she could sit facing him on the bed. But as she curled one leg onto the mattress, she froze, her gaze turning inward. Lines appeared between her brows and he asked, "What's wrong?"

"I—oh." She shifted again, experimentally, then gasped in obvious pain.

"Bones?"

She slid one hand gingerly under her t-shirt, and he caught a glimpse of skin and the edge of a gauze pad. Whatever she felt, it made her face go white. "Oh, god. I must've…" She looked at her fingers, and Booth saw a smudge of blood.

"Jesus. What—?"

"I got out of bed so fast, and I felt something, but I didn't think…" Her eyes squeezed shut. "It hurts. Booth—"

He put a hand on her shoulder. She was hunched forward, one hand hovering over her ribs.

"It's okay," he said. "It's gonna be all right. You just lie back and let me take a look."

"I don't want to move. It's…" Her breathing had accelerated but gotten more shallow, and she was in danger of hyperventilating.

"Bones, yes you can. Here." He patted her shoulder, then tugged carefully at her ankles, to raise her legs onto the bed. She braced herself with one hand, so she could lower onto her side, then roll onto her back, grimacing. Booth stabilized her feet on the mattress, with her knees bent to minimize the stress to her abs. Sitting next to her, he rested a hand on her knees. She was panting, and very pale.

"I need you to breathe nice and slow for me now, okay?"

She shook her head, a small violent motion. He wasn't sure if she was seriously injured, or just panicking at a bump to a tender spot. But he could almost hear her thinking, _I can't. It's going to hurt._

"Let me just take a look at it." The two of them pushed her t-shirt up, revealing her slender white stomach. A gauze pad covered half of her right side, and Booth saw that a few spots of blood had soaked through the material. Cautiously, he peeled the tape away from her skin and lifted the bandage. She winced, when the gauze stuck briefly to the wound.

The incision was a curving line just under her ribcage, slightly jagged where the stitches had pulled at the skin. It stretched from the top center of her belly, angling down perhaps four inches to her right. Booth saw that one side looked neat and healed, a pink seam of new skin. But the outer half had separately slightly. It was scabbed, seeping blood and fluid.

Brennan had her shirt pushed up to her chest, her hands bunched into the fabric.

"It's just a little blood, Bones. It doesn't look too bad." That second part was a lie, but he didn't want her to freak out any more than she already was.

He could see the bullet scar, too. Above the incision, near its outer edge: an indented circle of raw skin, just inside the base of her ribs.

Now Booth took a clean edge of the gauze pad. "I'm just going to dab at this, okay?" Trickles of blood were escaping down her side, and he wanted to catch them before they ran onto the blankets. The back of her t-shirt was still caught beneath her, so he gently tugged it higher up.

Brennan opened her eyes to see what he was doing, then squeezed them shut again. She held her breath while he soaked up the blood, and he told her, "Bones, you need to breathe for me. Lack of oxygen never benefited anyone, you know."

But it was clear she couldn't overcome the fear of stretching the wound with a deep inhale. He needed to distract her, get her more relaxed. "All right, tell me something. Tell me what _doesn't _hurt."

"What?" she panted.

"Well, does this hurt?" He tapped her left knee, and she shook her head, looking at him like he was nuts. But he had her attention. "Okay, does this hurt?" Now he stroked across her elbow and forearm, feeling the tense muscles that kept her hands clutched in her shirt.

"No…"

"What about this?" He brushed the bangs away from her forehead, and caressed down the side of her face, smiling a little.

She was on to him now, and managed to smile back. "I see what you're doing." He stroked her face again, slowly. This time when she closed her eyes, it looked like she was focusing, not flinching. She took a proper breath, although it caught in her throat, and then took another.

"There," he said. "Better?"

"Not as bad… as I thought."

-.-.-.-.

"Thank you, Booth."

He nodded like it was nothing, but Brennan looked up at him, dazed. A five o'clock shadow darkened his jaw, and his eyes seemed tired. But she saw—she _knew_—the care and distress in his eyes.

His actions were telling her everything she needed to know.

He took another glance at the injury. "It looks like some is starting to coagulate, but the rest is still bleeding." She found that his use of the term _coagulate _calmed her as much as anything else. He folded the gauze and put it lightly over the wound, then placed her hand over it.

But then he grabbed his jeans from a nearby chair and started pulling them on.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm getting dressed so I can take you to the emergency room."

"No, Booth—wait." Brennan was desperate not to get interrupted, not again. "I don't want to go anywhere. I didn't tell you—"

"Bones, we need some professional advice. Until we get a doctor to look at you, we don't know…"

"I'll go tomorrow. Please, Booth. I have to tell you something. I didn't mean to fall asleep during the movie—"

"You're not getting out of this." He buttoned his jeans and sat back on the bed. "That's already been bleeding for a while before we noticed it, so—"

"No, I don't want to move. Just stay with me? We—we can call the twenty-four hour service at the hospital. The number—it's in the kitchen with the prescription drugs."

Booth studied her. "All right, but we're getting you fixed up _first_. _Then _you'll have plenty of time to tell me whatever it is. Okay?"

She agreed, and he ducked out for a minute, returning with the necessary items: phone numbers, fresh gauze pads, medication and a glass of water. Finding his cell phone, he dialed the hospital.

Brennan closed her eyes, listening to him describe the situation to the duty nurse. Booth asked the relevant questions, and relayed ones to her. She had no desire to take the phone and give a more precise account. It was better to focus on his voice, rather than her injury. Tearing something that was only half-healed… Thinking about it made her queasy. She couldn't tell if the pain was superficial or deep. But for the moment, she didn't care.

Now Booth was listening to instructions. "No," he said, "one gauze pad. …I should? …Okay. …And tomorrow? …I understand."

He closed his cell phone and turned to her again.

"You're getting back on the hefty meds, Bones. Take a full dose, and you'll sleep like a baby tonight." He tipped a couple pills into his hand and gave them to her, with the glass of water. Once she swallowed he went on, "That's the good news. Bad news is, I have to put pressure on the wound for about five minutes. If it doesn't stop bleeding, then we're taking that trip to the hospital."

He held up a clean piece of gauze, his eyes gentle and grave. "You ready? Wait, you want me to get that stuffed dolphin from your bedroom? So you have something cute to hold onto?"

She wrapped her fingers around his arm. "I already do."

-.-.-.-.

**A/N: **I promise, she _will _tell him. But I had to end the chapter somewhere. At least I didn't try to title it "4:47 am," and introduce a whole other set of expectations. ;)


	23. Claim you

**A/N: **It's interesting to have a RL friend as a beta, not an obsessed fan. Her reactions can be summed up like this: "What's the big deal? It's clear B&B love each other. Why don't they see it, and just tell each other?" Oh, dear. Is there even a simple answer to that question?

Merci, la mome, for seeing through the crap to the heart of things.

**Part 23  
**

Applying pressure to Brennan's wound was not an experience Booth wanted to repeat. But it turned out differently than he expected.

He sat by her right side on the bed and put his palms over the gauze pad. She flinched as he pressed down, her hands instinctively trying to push him away. He didn't budge, and now her nails dug into the skin of his wrist. Her breath started to pant again; he could feel the jerky motion of her diaphragm under his hands.

"So, Bones." He tried to sound casual. "What did you name him?"

"Name—who?"

"That dolphin Pops and I got you. Does he have a name?"

"No."

"Well, let's think of something. What's a good name for a dolphin?"

"I don't…" Her eyes wanted to squeeze shut in pain, but she considered the question. "There are several different… genera of dolphins." Booth could see the scientific wheels starting to turn in her head. "_Delphinus delphis_, the common dolphin… Or _Tursiops truncates, _the bottlenose—"

"Come on," he scoffed, "I'm not talking Latin names. This is a little stuffed animal. You have to name it something cute. Something with a nice ring to it. Maybe a nautical name, or…"

"Booth, stop. You're trying to distract me."

"What? Do you mean you _want _to focus on the horrible agony I'm causing you right now?"

"No, I mean—I've been trying to tell you—something important." Her voice quivered, and he blamed the physical causes. He could feel the edge of her ribs, a flexible framework under the heel of his hand.

"We've got another few minutes here, Bones." He glanced at the clock. "Are you sure…?"

"_Yes_. I don't want to wait."

He looked down at her, with her hair tousled on the pillow and her hands still wrapped around his arm. "Okay. I'm listening."

"I think we've both… seen adequate evidence. But I have to tell you anyway." Her gaze locked on his, her eyes gleaming with tears. "Now… Now that you've broken up with Hannah… I don't want you to move on. I want you to stay. Right here, with me." She gripped his arm harder, then purposefully let go. Her hands dug into the blanket, and she looked resolute.

"I need to know. Would you be happier… with me as your friend and partner, or something else? Because that's not enough for me anymore. I thought it was—our partnership—and I was holding onto that. But…" Her voice cracked. "I feel too strongly. Booth… I care about you too much. _I_ want you. I want to _claim _you."

He stared at her speechlessly, until her eyes turned pleading.

"Bones, I want—I've wanted the same thing. Ever since—"

Words failed him, and he bent down to kiss her. It was hungry, not gentle. She met it, tipping her chin, her lips pressing against his with equal force.

Her hand came up to stroke his face, over his cheek and early morning stubble, and he forgot himself, letting his own hand falter and then jab into her ribs. She gasped against him and he drew back. "Sorry—sorry, Bones." He settled himself next to her again, making sure he exerted steady pressure.

Now she brushed at a few tears trickling down her face. Her feet still rested on the bed, legs bent, and Booth felt her lean her knees against his side. "I was right," she said. "I wasn't sure… about your feelings. But your actions seemed to indicate…"

"You were right." He smiled crookedly. "_So _right. But I can't believe your timing. I mean, really, Bones? _Now_? When it's three a.m. and you're lying here bleeding?"

"I meant to tell you before. But I was scared. And then—we started the movie and I fell asleep… There would never be a perfect time. So I thought, what the hell?"

"_What the hell_? When have you ever made decisions like that? But, God, I'm glad you did." He shook his head. She had picked her most vulnerable possible moment to tell him.

"It wasn't that big a risk. Not after… the ones I've already taken."

He looked down at her wound and the drops of blood that permeated the gauze. "So you are a gambler after all."

"I am." Her smile was a quick flash of pride. "Because it's worth it. _You _are worth it. You always were."

"Bones…" He placed his free hand alongside her face. They'd dimmed the lights to just one lamp by the bed, and her eyes looked shadowed with fatigue. But they were lovely and liquid and full of trust. "I love you, and I never stopped loving you. I don't want to move on. Because I don't want—I don't need anyone else. Not the way I need you."

She put her hand over his, on her cheek. "I... I love you, Booth."

For a moment, he went completely still. Then a grin spread over his face, and he couldn't resist teasing. "See, that wasn't so hard, was it? Even when you're not doped up on serious drugs."

"What do you mean? I said it before?"

He felt a little sheepish. "I thought you did. One of those times I was sitting with you in the hospital." He stroked her hair, threading his fingers into the thick warmth. "You were pretty out of it, not speaking clearly. And maybe I heard what I wanted to hear. But you said my name and looked right at me, so I know you weren't hallucinating and thinking I was Angela or your dad."

Bones looked amused at the idea of confusing him with anyone. But she turned serious again. "It's entirely possible that I said it. Because… I mean it. And I know about hearing or seeing what you want to. That's why… when Andrew came into that barn at the head of the swat team… I only saw you."

"I _should _have been there. I am so sorry..."

"Shh, I know you are. You don't have to…"

"But aren't you—" He had to ask. "Aren't you angry about that? I was with someone else!"

"I do find… the thought of you in bed with Hannah, just three or four weeks ago, makes me… jealous. But not angry with you. I want you to be happy."

"_You _make me happy, Bones. You."

She closed her eyes, and he saw that the lines of pain still hadn't smoothed from her face. Glancing at the clock he said, "I have to keep the pressure on just a little longer. Those pills haven't kicked in yet?" He could feel the shaky movement of her muscles as she breathed.

"Not yet. Takes a little time." When she opened her eyes, they glinted, but not with tears. "I think… if you kissed me again, it would serve as an effective analgesic."

Despite everything, he laughed, and bent low over her. "Well, yes, ma'am."

-.-.-.-.

When Booth checked the outside of the bandage, he decided the bleeding was under control.

"The nurse said as long as it hadn't soaked through a certain number of gauze pads in a certain amount of time… And we're safely within that." He made sure the edges of the dressing were secured to her skin.

Bones nodded in relief. She pulled her t-shirt back down, looking exhausted by the demands of pain and emotional declaration. He didn't want to move her, but they were still in the guest room and he figured she'd be more comfortable in her own bed.

She seemed to read his mind. "We'll just sleep here, okay?"

He tried to smile but yawned instead. "Yeah. Because after what we just said to each other, _nothing _could get me to move right now. Not unless the building was on fire."

He helped her position a pillow under her knees for comfort. Then he kicked off his jeans, slid under the blankets and reached to turn off the lamp. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he listened to Brennan breathing next to him. Being in bed with her… He wanted to laugh and kiss her and marvel at it. But he felt too peaceful, sleepy, and right.

"Do you realize what we did tonight, Bones? After I have this bad dream, you give _me _a lesson in psychology. Then you bust a gut running to my rescue, and I give _you _medical advice. How unlikely is that?"

He could hear the smile in her voice. "We've learned a lot from each other. And if we're in a proper relationship now, it would make sense to sometimes take the other person's role."

"Proper relationship." He repeated it, savoring the idea. "Took us long enough, didn't it?"

"Yes. But, Booth… I have some… reservations. Because I know I hurt you. I'm too tired to analyze now. But there are… other things I don't understand."

"It's okay. We've got time, Bones." He scooted closer until he found her in the dark. She reached for him too, without hesitation. While he draped his arm carefully across her waist, her hands circled his forearm. (He was glad it wasn't due to pain, this time.) His knees snuggled next to her thigh, and he rested his head close enough that he inhaled the scent of her hair with each breath.

"Now, we have all the time we want."

-.-.-.-.

**A/N: **If I was lazy and willing to leave loose ends, this could be the end of the story. But I won't do that. Of course I have more ideas. Still, send me some feedback, if you like: what, if any, issues do B/B still have to work out? Unless, like on the show, they solve things with time and actions, not with words.


	24. What's next

**A/N: **I have been relatively adept at avoiding writer's block—until now. So, I dragged my feet until nearly the last minute, then started over with a new POV. Thanks to Angela (and my own humble literary talents :), the chapter was reborn.

My timeline takes place before the Hodgela-baby-blindness issue came up, so we save them angst in that regard.

But more importantly, has anyone tried this facial blending software for the H/A or B/B babies? Come on, we're all dying to know what it would be like if ED and DB mingled their DNA to produce offspring.

**Part 24  
**

Angela scanned another photo of Jack as a baby, then took the control pad and went to stand in front of the large screen. She knew she should use the last minutes of her lunch hour for something else, like calling Brennan, or exercise, or shopping—those last two, things she should do before she got too big and uncomfortable to maneuver.

But here she was, unable to resist the temptation of facial mapping software.

Jack, with perfect timing, wandered into the office, polishing off an apple. He saw the array of baby and toddler photos on the monitor, and said, "Whoa. You're really going to do it?"

"Yep." She looked up from the controls. "I know we should just wait five months and be amazed at how gorgeous our kid is, but I couldn't help myself. I mean, look at you." She beamed at the screen. "Look at how cute you are with your little ears."

"I'm pretty sure you're the first person to call them _little_."

"Well, you grew into them."

"Thank God." He watched her work for a moment, creating dots and lines that graphed their facial features. "So… this is like those ads online, that if you married Brad Pitt instead of me, you could use photos to see what your kid would look like?"

"My program is a lot better than most of those. And no, I don't want Brad Pitt to be the father of this child. He's not a brilliant scientist like you are." Hodgins grinned, while Angela focused on her data pad. "If I've calibrated this correctly… our first view is going to be a random blend that emulates genetic inheritance. See, those other programs just blend everything, like morphing the face shape and then the features. But this…" Angela keyed a few more commands, then looked up. "Some things get combined, whereas others…"

"He's got my nose!" They stared at the screen, where a part-Jack, part-Angela baby smiled back at them. "Wow," he breathed. "How accurate is this?"

"Pretty accurate. A good estimate, anyway."

Hodgins put his arm around her. "As long as he doesn't get my ears."

"Or _she_," Angela corrected. "I didn't specify gender for this image, but babies look kind of androgynous anyway."

Jack looked at their individual baby pictures again. His took up the left background of the screen, with hers on the right. "You were just a beautiful, angelic kid, weren't you?"

"I don't know about the _angelic _part. My dad could tell you some stories."

"I bet he could." Hodgins gave her a mischievous smile before turning back to the image. "So, if you mix your lovely and spectacular DNA with my cute but funny-looking appearance… then _this _is what our kid might look like."

They basked in the glow of the screen a moment longer. Angela's phone rang from the desk, so she kissed Hodgins on the cheek and went to answer it.

Booth's voice greeted her, sounding tired. "Would you be free to stay with Bones later today? I just brought her back from the hospital. She had a sort of relapse and re-injured part of her incision."

"Oh my God! But—how? Is she okay?" Jack gave her a worried look, and she gestured at him to wait until she heard the news.

"Bones is… She was pretty exhausted by the time we got back, so she crawled right into bed. They gave her more medication and orders to limit her activity. She's kind of demoralized, because this sets her back at least a week."

"I don't get it. She was doing better! Weren't you two going to hang out last night and watch a movie? Wait a minute." A crazy but attractive idea blossomed in Angela's brain. "What are you still doing there? Did you spend the _night_?"

"Yeah..." Booth sounded reluctant to divulge. "She fell asleep during the movie, so I just stayed."

"And?" Angela demanded. "_And_?"

"And… she got up in the middle of the night and moved too suddenly, and tore the edge of her injury. I took her to get it checked this morning."

"Honey," Angela sputtered, "I am going to need _so _much more than that."

"Look, we'll tell you all about it, okay?—if you can stay at her apartment tonight. I want to, but—I haven't changed clothes, and I have Parker this weekend…"

"Yeah, sure, of course. I'll be there in… Well, I have some work to finish, but I can be there in two hours. Maybe one, because…" She couldn't help the note of glee that entered her voice. "Because this sounds _really _important."

-.-.-.-.

Brennan was just getting up from her nap when Angela arrived.

Booth stood in the kitchen heating up some soup, and she said hi to him while dumping her bag and coat by the door. "Bones hasn't eaten much today," he explained, "but the doctors said the stronger antibiotics can wreak havoc on your digestive system. So I hope this'll be okay."

Bren appeared in the hallway, looking tousled and groggy. "Ange?"

"Hey, Sweetie."

"Bones, you know you're not supposed to be moving around much."

"I heard voices."

"Yeah," Angela said, "I'm gonna stay with you tonight. Because as much as Booth would _like _to stay—to be your love slave, scullery maid and house husband—he does have to go home for a bit."

Brennan smiled at the choice of terms. "Can you help me for a minute? These are my same clothes from yesterday and I'd like to…"

"Of course." Angela pointed at Booth. "You, Chef Studly—you're going to be here for a few more minutes?"

He nodded, and she accompanied Brennan down the hall to the bedroom. She helped her undress, noting that Bren was moving very stiffly, but claimed it was due to paranoia more than pain.

"I can still shower," she said as they went into the bathroom, "but it seems like too much trouble right now." Clad in just her underwear, Bren sat on the toilet seat, asking Angela to soak a washcloth in warm water. "I don't like the thought of water hitting the incision. Even with a dressing over it." She touched the gauze taped to her skin, shivering a little.

Angela decided not to focus on that. Instead she sighed at the lovely lines and curves of her friend's body. "I remember when my waist was that thin."

She handed Bren the washcloth and asked about the medical diagnosis. "They did two ultrasounds first, one abdominal and one for the liver. There was a small tear at the border of the muscle…" Bren motioned at her side, and Angela saw goose bumps on her chest and arms, where her skin was wet from the cloth.

"Here, Sweetie, let me get your back, and then we'll find you some warm clothes to put on." She took the cloth, while Brennan told her about blood tests the doctors had run. They'd found an infection brewing in the wound, that was keeping part of it from healing properly.

"Does that explain some of the pain you had earlier in the week?"

"Maybe, yes. It's hard to know for sure."

Angela was a model of restraint, still not asking _how _Bren had torn the injury. Now she bent down to sponge her friend's legs and feet. "Thanks, Ange. You're like a professional home-care nurse."

"Well, you can do the same for me, when I'm nine months pregnant, can't bend over, and don't want Hodgins anywhere near me."

Once Brennan was dry and dressed in comfortable clothes, they rejoined Booth in the living room. He sat on the couch eating a bowl of soup, but gave up his spot as soon as they came in.

"Here you go, Bones." She sat down carefully, and Booth pushed the footstool into position. Before Angela could even realize—it would hurt Bren's muscles to raise her legs—Booth had helped lift her feet onto the cushion.

Angela sat down on a chair, staring at the two of them. They looked so natural, like they'd been doing this for weeks.

Booth picked up a second bowl from the coffee table. "Feel up to eating all this? You have to keep up your strength to fight off that bacteria, right?"

Bren sounded resigned. "The antibiotics will do most of the fighting."

"I know you don't want to take them, but it's a necessary evil." She swallowed a spoonful of soup, and Booth leaned over to feel her forehead. "You're still kind of hot. She was last night, too," he told Angela, "but I didn't think…"

"Booth, it's okay. It's only a slight fever. I didn't realize either."

"Well…" He looked between the two of them. "I guess I should get going. Maybe go for a run, then grab some food for Parker. I'll call you tomorrow. Rebecca might be able to pick him up early, so the two of us can spend more time…"

"You shouldn't cut into your time with Parker." Brennan's frown turned into the light of an idea. "You could both come here to swim. I can't go in the water, but I could sit on the side and watch you."

Angela saw the slow, pleased smile on Booth's face. "We'd love that, Bones."

The artist had a belated realization. "Wait—did you miss a whole day at work to stay here?"

He nodded. "I called Hacker first thing this morning. Bones might've tried to argue, but… this is much more important."

They shared a warm, secret look that made Angela tingle.

"I might take more days off next week," Booth said. "This whole thing was kind of my fault, and I want to keep you company. Besides, we still have a few things to figure out… Right?"

"Right." Bren's voice held a sort of peacefulness Angela couldn't remember hearing before. Not that there weren't other currents swirling between these two. Angela could sense those, for sure. But she thought she detected some new balance, of comfort and unease, sparks and resolution.

Then, under her thrilled gaze, Booth kissed Brennan on the cheek, and left.

The door had hardly closed behind him when she pounced on her friend. "Oh my God, Brennan!" Angela plopped onto the couch and clutched her arm. "You two just couldn't wait any longer, so you went against doctor's orders and finally had boisterous, passionate, exuberant sex?"

Brennan raised an eyebrow at the excessive adjectives. "We didn't have sex, Angela. That's not how I got injured. But we did say I love you to each other."

Angela actually stopped breathing.

"I—I—Sweetie!" She hugged her then, almost spilling the soup, and they drew back, laughing. "Sorry! Just what you need is a burn on top of your bullet scar. But—details, Brennan. I need details."

She obliged.

By the end of the story, Angela could feel her eyes dancing. "So, you did _sleep _together after all."

Bren agreed. "I have to say, injury or not… Waking up next to Booth is a very pleasant experience."

"So—" The artist was still reduced to monosyllabic replies. "So—what's next?"

"I don't know." Brennan smiled, a small, smug smile. "I just know that we're together."

-.-.-.-.

**A/N: **Thanks to doctorsuez for medical info!


	25. Swimming

**A/N: **I'm still having trouble with this section. But that's what I get for just diving in without planning the whole endeavor. Still, I think I have a handle on the upcoming plot points.

If you'd like to read a few more pages I wrote this week, please check out my one-shot, set in season 7, with the mouthful of a title, 'Accustomed to Irrevocable.' It's a little angst and sweetness about the B/B baby. Yay!

**Part 25**

"So, what are the rules for swimming?"

Parker rolled his eyes from the passenger seat. "No running, no splashing, no peeing in the pool. I _know_, Dad. I'm not a baby."

It was Sunday morning. They'd just come from church, and were now headed toward Brennan's apartment. Booth watched the road, debating whether he should even mention the next part. But Parker was sure to find out sooner or later.

"And what's the other rule, about Bones' pool?"

Looking bored, he recited, "Just because we get to use her pool doesn't mean she's your girlfriend."

"Yeah, but… as of a couple days ago, she _is_ my girlfriend."

Parker turned to look at him, and he couldn't tell what the kid was thinking.

"That's good. I didn't like Hannah."

Booth tried to phrase a response, to say that Parker had barely even met Hannah, and that he shouldn't be rude.

"What took you so long?" Parker asked. "I told you that was a stupid reason."

"What was?"

"When Bones said she couldn't be your girlfriend because you work together. I said that was a stupid reason." He shook his head sagely. "You should have listened to me."

Great, Booth thought. I'm getting relationship advice from my kid. He considered trying to explain about taking risks, or FBI rules, or knowing yourself. But instead, he started to smile.

"You know what, buddy? I really _should _listen to you."

-.-.-.-.

Brennan sat on a lounge chair at the side of the indoor pool, enjoying the humid warmth and the chance to wear shorts during the cold season. An anthropology journal and some plans for her novel rested on her lap, but she wasn't reading them. She was too occupied with watching Booth and Parker.

"Watch this!" Parker yelled to her, then dove under the water and swam through a plastic hoop that Booth was holding just below the surface. He came up grinning and pushing the hair out of his eyes. "I didn't touch the edges at all. Now you, Dad."

"I don't know, this looks pretty tricky."

"Come on, if I can do it, you can."

"Okay… hold it nice and steady for me." Booth slid under the water, and Brennan craned her neck to see what was happening.

After a slight delay, he surfaced, and Parker criticized, "You totally touched the sides. You almost got stuck!"

"Yeah, I'm a little bigger than you, okay?" He shot Brennan an amused look, before turning back to listen to Parker's advice: how to hold your arms and how to kick, in order to pass through the ring in a straight, neat line.

Brennan glanced around at the other lounge chairs and the tall potted plants by the windows. It was unexpectedly quiet for a weekend; the few other swimmers had left for lunch, and for now, they had the pool to themselves.

Parker was devising a game with a beach ball, and he felt it only natural that she be included. Booth seemed to hesitate, perhaps about to warn her that she shouldn't overtax her muscles, but the ball was light and she didn't want to sit this one out. She put her reading aside and listened to Parker's ideas for the game. One of them could toss her the ball and she could throw it back, aiming to the side so that they could lunge dramatically to catch it before falling into the water.

They threw it back and forth several times, Brennan getting showered by drops of water whenever she caught the ball. Then she saw Booth sneak up behind Parker and duck under the water. Parker yelled like he was being attacked, then shouted with laughter as Booth lifted him up on his shoulders. They kept up their game that way, Booth and Parker trying to guess what direction she would throw the ball. Once, when they guessed wrong, they lunged to the side, but overbalanced and splashed into the water. The ball bounced away over the surface, while Booth and Parker came up spluttering and laughing.

"I still caught it, did you see?" Parker held onto the side of the pool, shaking his head to get the water out of his eyes. Booth, next to him, was doing the exact same thing. They looked like a pair of cute, wet dogs, and Brennan started to laugh. She laughed until her side throbbed and tears came to her eyes, and Booth decided he'd better check on her.

She watched him, his arm muscles bulging as he lifted himself out of the pool. Water streamed down his body and his swim trunks clung to his hips and thighs. She caught her breath and stopped laughing.

"Are you okay, Bones? Don't hurt yourself." He nodded at her waist with a hint of teasing, but his voice was soft and deep. She couldn't have said if her eyes were tearing from mirth or something else. He sat on the chair next to her, and they watched Parker together.

"I'm okay, Booth. I'm more than okay."


	26. Heroes and Fiction

**A/N: **Do B/B really need to work out some issues? Let's find out.

**Part 26  
**

They went up to Brennan's apartment to make sandwiches for lunch. The antibiotics were killing her appetite, but Booth thought that seeing him and Parker eat with such gusto, she managed more bites than she otherwise would have.

Then Parker spotted the dolphin DVD, and they all sat down to watch it. Bones had seen it before, and when Booth would glance at her, it seemed like her thoughts were wandering.

"Dad, look at that!" Parker leaned forward on the couch. "Do you think I could do that?" A dolphin had risen vertically out of water, keeping its balance with powerful strokes of its tail fin.

Brennan stepped in, saying that human anatomy wouldn't allow it, but it was possible to move somewhat like a dolphin underwater.

"That's right," Booth said, catching her idea, "it's the kick swimmers use when doing the butterfly."

Parker wanted to swim again as soon as possible, to try different strokes. "I have to double check with your mom," Booth told him, "but as long as it's okay with Bones, we should be able to come back next weekend."

Brennan nodded. "I'd like that."

Before they left, Parker went to use the bathroom while Booth collected their swimming gear. Brennan leaned on the arm of the sofa, holding the DVD box without seeing it.

"Bones." Booth slung a duffel bag over his shoulder, watching her. "You've been thinking kind of hard about something."

She looked up, smiling a little. But instead of explaining, she went over to the lamp table where a stack of academic journals rested. She took some pages that were slipped inside one of the magazines, and shoved them into his hands.

He looked down at the text and she said, "I wrote some scenes for my novel yesterday. I don't know if they even have a place in the book, but I wanted you to read them. For once I can see how reality has a direct effect on fiction. And I hope this doesn't… I just want to see what you think."

"You do?" He couldn't keep the incredulous happiness out of his voice. She'd never let him read anything before, not until it was published. She only did that with Angela, for help with the steamy parts, or with one of those weirdo boyfriends she'd had before Sully—for God knows what reason.

"Yeah, I'd be glad to read it, Bones." Her expression told him she was less glad, and that made him nervous. Not to mention in suspense.

-.-.-.-.

Booth spent the evening with Parker, then returned him to Rebecca. Before calling or going back to Brennan's place, Booth decided to read what she'd given him.

He settled himself at the kitchen table and began: _Kathy sprinted down the alley after the perpetrator's footsteps. _

Bones had created a set-up very like the one she'd experienced: a young woman kidnapped, a stalled investigation kicked into high gear by the squints' findings. And an absent partner. The fictional FBI guy had been swimming laps at the gym. He hadn't checked his phone until an hour too late.

_There was no time to call for back up. _

_She slowed before she rounded the corner of the building. She heard a scraping, creaking noise, like a large door being forced open, and then a girl's scream._ _She drew her gun, and turned the corner. In that first second her eyes registered only outlines: a figure in a warehouse doorway; a weapon aimed right at her. She fired. _

_But the man held his victim as a shield. They slumped forward together__—had she hit them both? Now the crook was moving; he fired at her and she shot back. A kill shot this time._

_Kathy ran forward as he dropped to the ground. She kicked the gun from his hand, and fell on her knees next to the girl. She was unconscious, but breathing. Kathy pulled out her phone and dialed 911. Her hands shook._

_I shot the _victim_, she told herself. The one I was supposed to protect. _

_She had reported her location and the girl's injury before realizing that she, too, was wounded. She leaned against the brick wall, shivering._

Booth felt himself cringe. Like Bones had to do, her character sat and waited.

The writing didn't come out and say it, but Booth knew: she'd never felt more alone.

As he read, he could see the man's sprawled body and the ropes around the girl's wrists. He could see the brick wall and the fire escape with pigeons perched on it. He could smell blood spilled on the pavement and seeping through Kathy's shirt.

Like Booth had done, Andy came to the hospital. But the scene stopped before the partners met face to face. Kathy had been lucky and didn't need the ICU. While doctors tended her, she had time to think.

Somehow, in her mind, her partner merged with the kidnapped girl. _I tried to save them but hurt them instead._

_Her relationship with Andy had needed to change. He'd seen that, but she didn't. For years they had solved crimes, chased bad guys, flirted, even slept together, in this stormy, passionate, on-off affair. _

_But Kathy had held back from a real relationship. When he finally pushed her toward one, she ran. And that was a mistake. _

Booth put down the pages. Without pausing, he picked up the phone and called her.

"Bones. I just read it. I—I'm thinking a lot of things but can't find the right… I want to come over, okay?"

-.-.-.-.

She was curled on the sofa when he got there, dressed in the shorts and t-shirt she wore to bed.

He locked the door behind him, saying, "Sorry—there was an accident and they were re-routing traffic all the way around."

She watched him for a moment. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, it happened well before I got there."

"I mean about the story."

He went to stand next to her, trying to describe his reaction. "I feel bad and guilty but… really glad. Does that make any sense?"

"I think so." She sighed as if in relief. "I didn't want the first part to sound like an accusation. But I think the second part was an apology."

"Well… I'll consider myself blamed and forgiven." They exchanged tiny smiles. "Do you… want to talk about it now?"

She shook her head, her eyes tired. "Later. Let's just sleep."

Getting into bed with Brennan was still a novelty. In fact, this was the first night he would spend in _her _bed, not in the guest room.

Once they were under the covers, she moved tentatively toward him, as though not sure of her reception, or because she was still stiff and sore. He accepted immediately, his arm going around her shoulders while she rested her head on his chest. He felt her ribs expand under his arm, and then her warm breath across his shirt.

Despite their talk of _later_, they found themselves discussing the scene she'd written.

"Why did you change it, Bones?" he asked softly. "The main difference with your story… it followed reality pretty closely. But the girl got shot."

He felt her tense. "It could have happened. I was—my hands were so cold from adrenaline. If I hadn't hesitated, hadn't given him the chance to shoot _me_… I could have missed. I could have hit her."

"But you didn't. Your aim was good."

She ducked her head lower on his chest. "I'm always saying it is. But that's just the firing range. Not real and unpredictable situations."

He stroked his hand over her shoulder and along the neck of her shirt, soothing.

After a second she said, "The Kellers called me yesterday."

"Ingrid's family?"

"I spoke to her parents, first. They wanted to ask about my recovery, and tell me how she was doing."

"And?"

"I think she's okay. She's back in school, although she sometimes suffers panic attacks." Bones hesitated. "I talked to her and she still seemed… a little awestruck. It made me uncomfortable."

"You can't help being awed when someone saves your life."

"But, Booth… that's the other reason I changed it, in the story. I am so glad she's all right—and I might have made the same choice again, to protect her. But having Kathy Reichs hit the victim by mistake… she's not a hero." He heard a cynical note in her voice. "It goes against the formula that my publisher probably wants, the one that will make money. Where all the clues add up and the heroes save the day at the last minute, and then…"

"Kathy and Andy fall into bed together?"

"Well, yes." She didn't let him distract her, but looked up at his face. "You said I was like a superhero. Why did you say that? It's unrealistic. I don't like to hear it."

Because it put too much pressure on her, he thought. "I know. I know things can go wrong, and we just try to do what we can. Maybe I shouldn't have said it, Bones. But you were… you were still in the hospital. I was so, so grateful that you made it. That you and Ingrid made it, and that Dawes was the one lying there dead."

She shuddered, the way her character had in the alley, and Booth held her closer. I'm so sorry, he thought, that you had to go through that alone.

Aloud he said, "That thing Kathy thought, about hurting the ones she tried to protect? That's what you meant, isn't it? That night at the hospital, when the nurse kicked me out… You said you made mistakes, but you only did it to protect someone else. You meant Ingrid… and me."

"Yes."

He tried to lighten his tone. "That doesn't make any sense, you know. Comparing how you barged into that barn, with how you _didn't _take a risk with me?"

"No, it doesn't make sense. You're a much better risk than a kidnapper and murderer."

Booth couldn't help it: he laughed. "I'm glad to hear that."

She ignored how strange her comment had sounded and forged ahead. "The comparison doesn't make sense for another reason. Because Ingrid would surely have been harmed, whereas… the two of us being in a relationship… I was afraid there would be harm. Even if I _wanted _to gamble and act irrationally… there are no guarantees. I thought I had to… stop us from taking that step."

"I, um… I made a mistake too. Because I didn't _listen _to you. When I said I had to move on… the words just came out. Like I was—like I wanted to hurt you, because you hurt me. All I heard was _no_. I didn't hear the reason why."

"I did tell you no," she said gently. "Your moving on was the logical consequence."

He glanced down at her in the dim light. Her eyes were bright and liquid, and he wanted to kiss her. The pain and acceptance he'd heard in her voice… that was love, right there.

"Now, wait," he said instead. "Are you admitting that I was logical and you weren't, with your messed up idea about risk-taking?"

"I was on medication," she dismissed it. "That doesn't count."

"What do you mean doesn't count?"

Her eyes sparked at him, ready to argue. "I mean, I was under the influence of chemical substances that have documented side effects on brain function. I can't be held responsible for what I did or didn't say."

"Oh, really?"

They took comfort in bickering for a moment, like a game that nobody had to win. Bones even trailed off in the middle of rationalizing, and sighed against his chest. Booth savored her warm weight. He closed his eyes, smiling, and pulled the covers further over them both.


	27. The Alpha Male in the Park

**A/N: **Thanks to my lovely reader/friend jsq for feedback on this section.

**Part 27**

Booth swiveled his creaky office chair toward the computer so he could click through one of the Bureau databases.

It was Wednesday morning, his first day at work since the previous Thursday. When he'd called Hacker to take more time off, the boss had seemed puzzled at the timing of his vacation days, but hadn't objected. Knowing Hacker, the guy would probably barge in here later, with some irrelevant question as an excuse to find out what was going on.

Now, Booth was glad the work was unchallenging: mainly assisting other agents on low profile cases. Because, this week, he felt rather distracted.

That's what sleeping with Bones will do for you. He smiled at the thought.

But despite their lighthearted weekend with Parker, she'd had a rough couple of days. The antibiotics took some time to kick in, so she had the pain of the healing wound, coupled with (as she phrased it) the gastrointestinal-tract side effects.

Today she insisted she was feeling better, and that was the only reason he'd gone in to work. He could tell she was impatient and a bit shaken up by the medical setback. He was, too. Although he'd acted calm when she tore the wound last week, seeing it up close… It brought him right back to those desperate hours he'd spent in the hospital.

Maybe it was good to get back to work, so he didn't drive her crazy with his over-protectiveness. Or his teasing.

Booth thought about the afternoon they'd spent at the park yesterday. Yeah, he'd teased her, and she'd given it right back. But they'd also had a pretty heavy discussion.

-.-.-.-.

When he'd returned from picking up groceries Tuesday morning, he asked Bones how she was doing.

"Well, the good news is that I'm caught up on the current research in forensic science, physical anthropology and cultural anthropology. The bad news is that I can't stand to sit around and read another article."

He smiled. "Then let's go somewhere. I have an idea."

He didn't explain until they'd arrived at one of the large city parks. "I want to recreate that scene from your dream," he told her. "The nice one, not the scary ones."

When she'd described that vision of the two of them running through a grassy field, he couldn't help mocking a little. "Really, Bones? Running hand in hand through the green grass? I'd have thought you'd dream about us at some romantic moonlit crime scene. Or maybe digging up the remains of a Stone Age Romeo and Juliet."

She frowned at his absurd example, but admitted he had a point. "It was rather cliché. Apparently my subconscious isn't very imaginative. But a scene like that occurred in one of the movies I'd watched that week. So perhaps I have an excuse."

Now they walked through the park until they found a good spot under a tree, next to a playground.

"So, I know the grass isn't tall enough," Booth said, "and we can only walk slowly and not run. But we can still go hand in hand under the trees. How's that for making dreams a reality?"

Her answering smile was so happy that he swore his heart flipped over.

He spread out a blanket and two folding chairs. Once they were settled, they watched what was happening on the playground, just across the walking path. Preschool-age kids ran and climbed on the equipment, while parents and nannies watched from the sidelines.

"Look at that little guy." Booth pointed out a blond curly-haired boy. "Parker looked just like that when he was that age. Well, not _exactly _like. Maybe just the hair."

Brennan studied the boy's face as he ran toward the slide. "Yes, his bone structure is noticeably different." A minute later she said, "Parker had fun on Sunday, didn't he?"

"Yeah, Bones. He really did. I did too."

"So did I. Although," she sighed, "I wish I was healed enough to go in the water."

"Just give it time, babe." She didn't even react to his affectionate term, and he took it as a victory. "You know…" He leaned over and nudged her in the arm. "I think you just wanted to see me in wet swim trunks. Didn't you?"

"I did not. I wanted Parker to enjoy the pool. Anything else… was just icing on the cake."

"Hey, good use of an idiom there. But no…" He eyed her. "Sitting by the side, pretending to read? I think you were checking me out, Bones. And why not? I'm a healthy, in-shape guy, who—"

"You're full of yourself."

He laughed. "Your Kathy Reichs character thinks _her _FBI guy is hot. And they've been sleeping together since book one."

"That's fiction."

"Yeah… but it's also the main difference between the novel and reality. I bet I know what Sweets would say about that: wish fulfillment, pure and simple."

She tried to glare at him for his audacity, then changed tactics with a graceful shrug. "I would gladly have sex with you, if my doctor hadn't forbidden me from physical activity."

"Shh, Bones." He made a quelling gesture, glancing across at the little kids.

"You're still uncomfortable talking about sex?" She smiled slyly. "Even if I'm not recovered, I could still look the part. Just wait until next weekend. I could decide to wear my bathing suit while sitting by the pool. Then we'll see who's checking out whom."

"Bring it on, baby." They grinned at each other, but her expression faltered and she glanced away.

"Unless…" Lines now creased her forehead. "Unless we need a… cooling off period. Or time to adjust. Because it wasn't that long ago you were in a relationship with Hannah. Are you okay with moving on from…?"

"It's not like moving on," Booth said quickly. "It's like coming back. To what I always knew was right."

"That _is_ what you told me." She spoke softly. "That you never stopped loving me, even if…" She turned to look at him, and he held his breath. "I didn't know, at first. That you could love someone else, and still care for me… But I think I understand." A mix of emotions played over her face for him to see. Hurt and regret. Admiration and pride.

"You're capable of many things, that can't be explained with simple black and white statements. But I know the underlying reason. You have a generous heart. That's what makes you… you." She smiled, and he saw how the tree cast shifting shadows over her hair. "I can understand it, intellectually. That being with someone else didn't cancel out what went before. But…"

He heard how carefully she was choosing her words, and wanted to say, _I didn't love Hannah_. But he had—or thought he had. Now he finished her sentence in a gravelly tone. "It still hurt you."

She nodded. "I hurt you too, before we left…"

"No, Bones—" He fumbled for the right words. "I mean, I was hurt, but… Do you think it could hurt more than it did a month ago, when I didn't know if you would live or die? Or if you did, whether you'd ever want to see me again? Seeing you hooked up to all those tubes and machines in the ICU… that's when it finally hit me. Because… I tried to do without you. Going to Afghanistan for half a year, trying to lose myself in Army training, even meeting someone else…

"None of that, Bones…" He looked up with a little smile. "The time and distance, it couldn't change my feelings. And I don't _want _them to change. Because you make me happy. You're the one I choose."

Tears shone in her eyes. She reached over and touched the neck of his shirt. Then she tugged him toward her, so hard he nearly toppled out of his chair. Fervent and gentle, she kissed him. With little caresses of her lips and tongue, giving more than she received.

It took him a moment to find his voice. When he did, he grinned. "Trying to give the little kids an inappropriate show, huh?"

She ignored that, but said, completely straight-faced, "I'm sorry I had to almost die for both of us to come to our senses."

Trust Brennan to hit him in the gut with her bluntness. "So am I," he choked out. Or was that a glint in her eye? "Holy shit, Bones. So am I."

-.-.-.-.

Hacker appeared after lunch, and Booth thought, right on schedule. He let his boss stumble through some unnecessary questions and small talk. He waited him out, like he would with a certain type of suspect.

"So, Booth… how is Temperance doing?"

"Pretty well, sir."

Hacker seemed flustered when that was all he got. "Have you… seen her recently?"

"Yeah, pretty recently." I went to sleep with her last night, his mind added. In her bed. I woke up next to her today.

"Look, just give it to me straight. Are you… is she…?" Then Hacker seemed to remember something and waved a hand. "There won't be any professional ramifications. At least not yet. I just need to know if I still have a shot with her. When she got out of the hospital I would call… I would've stopped by if I had any guts. But she was giving me the polite cold shoulder. I could only assume… that you're… together?"

Booth tried hard not to gloat. The man was still his boss. "You assumed right."

"Okay, well... You're a damn lucky man. I hope you know that. And once she's back at work, we can figure this whole thing out. With Dr. Sweets' feedback." He looked at his watch and stood up. "I have to go—plenty of people to order around. Meanwhile, you're still not allowed on murder cases until a shrink gives the okay. Have to make sure you're not a basket case from not being there when your partner got shot." Hacker stopped in the doorway, looking like he wanted to say something else. He settled on, "Just don't let the new developments distract you from your work."

Once his boss had exited, Booth squinted at the door. Sure, Hacker had hinted at _professional ramifications_. He'd tried to make him feel guilty: _not being there when your partner got shot. _But Hacker had nothing on him.

Because, he thought, I won. It was a completely caveman attitude that Bones would hate. But it was true.

Booth pushed back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk.

That's right. I won. Because I'm the alpha male.


	28. Not something you forget

**A/N: **Thank you to jsq for the beta read!

**Part 28  
**

That week, Brennan let Booth be the one to call her. If she'd been working too, it might have been different. Now she told herself she didn't want to interrupt whatever he was doing. But she was always glad he called. That, and the fact they were essentially living together, made her feel… needed. Cared for.

They'd spent one night at his apartment for a change of scene. ("And," he'd said, "so I can clean out the fridge and maybe vacuum something.") She liked being surrounded by his things, his smell. She'd always felt comfortable there. Except for the previous few months.

When they'd walked in that evening, she'd gone into the living room and set down her bag. Booth brought her a glass of water. They both glanced at the old phone resting on the end table. She smiled a bit uncertainly, and he smiled back. It grew into one of those big, hearty grins he had in large supply lately. Then he sat next to her on the couch and took her hand, and didn't need to say a word.

-.-.-.-.

Booth called at his usual time on Friday.

Brennan found herself very curious about the type of work he was doing this week. But _curious _was not a strong enough word.

"Come on, Bones, you're giving me the third degree!"

"I suppose I am. But if I can't go in to work myself, I'd like to hear what others are doing. And I don't want you going into the field if I'm not there to watch you." She hadn't meant to say that so bluntly.

"Aw, that's sweet. But you don't have to worry. I won't be doing anything near as dangerous as what we used to do."

"I'm glad. But you're… happy about that?"

"Yeah, I don't mind. Some of the work gets boring, but really… I've had enough excitement to last me a while." His tone was not joking, and she knew what he must be referring to.

"I know the feeling."

Just then her father let himself into the apartment, carrying a grocery bag. Max started to unload items onto the counter and refrigerator, while Brennan questioned Booth further about his work.

She must have hesitated too long before asking her last question, because Booth picked up on it. "Was there something else, Bones?"

She shifted her weight, standing by the dining table. Max was going to overhear, but it couldn't be helped. "I wondered… Did Dawes have a family? Who was… Who informed them he was dead?"

The line went silent for a moment. "He had a brother, in Florida." Booth used that careful tone she hadn't heard in weeks. "We checked out family members back when we were trying to narrow down the suspect list. Hacker's the one who told him." Booth was about to say something else, but another agent must have appeared in his office, because he held the phone away and said, "Just give me a minute. Sorry, Bones. Now, why did you want to…?"

"I just wondered, that's all. I'll let you go; you have work to do. Besides, my dad's here. We're going to try cooking a dish that my mother always liked to make for us."

Booth said goodbye, after securing a promise that they would talk—and eat—later.

"So, Tempe…" Max was measuring water into a pot. "What's Booth working on this week?"

Reaching for the package of pasta, she summarized what her partner had told her.

"And he's living in your apartment with you, huh?"

She studied Max's self-satisfied expression. "How did you…?"

He jerked his thumb at the refrigerator. "There's _meat _in there. That processed lunch meat you won't let me eat. There's a guy's jacket in the closet. And…" His eyes crinkled at the corners. "You look more happy than I've seen you in a while. You look more… settled."

Brennan couldn't help arguing, on principle. "Why does everyone insist that a woman has to _settle down, _or that she needs a man to be happy?"

Max spread his hands. "Baby, I didn't say the word _need_. I only said the word _happy_."

This time when he smiled, she grudgingly returned it.

Max watched her chop vegetables while they waited for the water to heat.

"This man Dawes. Did he have a family?"

Brennan glanced sharply at him but couldn't read his expression. "A brother." She focused back on her chopping. Careful, precise.

"That's the second man you've killed."

His words sounded matter of fact. They shouldn't cause an emotional reaction. "How did you know that?"

She didn't bother to correct him. The second man she'd killed, but the third person.

"Booth told me, about the first one. He didn't say much. But I know that another girl—Helen?—she was kidnapped. The two of you saved her. Booth says you saved him, too."

Booth must not have told him about the second shooting. It had been so overshadowed by other events. Booth's apparent death. Zack's… leaving.

Max was waiting for a response, but she could outwait him.

"Why did you ask this now, honey, about the criminal's family?"

Brennan finished her chopping. She set the knife down and looked at her father. "I was thinking about it this week. My brain must have been preoccupied before now, with the healing process or…" Something about her dad's face prompted her to go on. But she didn't know if her words were to challenge him, to seek reassurance, or to run an experiment.

"I took a man's life. And even if he deserved it… I can't help _seeing _it. At unexpected times, like going to sleep, or when I'm just..." Brennan glanced down at the knife on the counter. "I see it. How I shot him, and he fell."

She didn't say how it took a long time for him to fall. She didn't say how the bullet left gaping wounds in his head. She didn't say, I won't mention it to Booth, because he feels guilty enough.

Max came close to her. He stared down at the counter, too. "I told you during my trial I had a clear conscience. And I do. But sometimes… The sight, the smell of that blood? It's not something you forget."

She looked at him, then, and saw an expression she had rarely seen, when he talked about her mother. It showed in his eyes, the set of his jaw and shoulders. Like something heavy he had to carry.

"But the part I _remember_," Max said, "is that those men I killed, and you killed? They tried to hurt innocent people. They tried to hurt someone's little girl. And they did. They hurt Ingrid and two others before her. They hurt Russ, took a shot at him. They would have hurt you. So." He lifted his shoulders, but it didn't look like he was shrugging anything off. "If I'm lying in bed at night, and I see and hear those deaths again… It's worth it."

-.-.-.-.

"You kept a bowl warm for me? You're the best, Bones."

He'd called on his way to the gym, saying he'd get a quick workout and be home in an hour. _Home_. That's what he'd called her apartment.

Now they sat together at the table. Brennan had eaten earlier with Max, and watched Booth taste the stew from her mother's recipe. "It didn't turn out quite like I remember," she said, "but it's still pretty good."

"_Very _good." That, however, didn't stop him from complaining about the "fake meat" she'd used instead of ground beef.

"I can only hope it balances out some of the awful things you eat," she countered. "Ingredients like sodium nitrate in packaged meat have been linked to an increased risk of pancreatic cancer."

Booth looked indignant, and they bickered for a while. But he turned serious as he finished the meal.

He asked why she'd wanted to know about Dawes.

Brennan didn't want to tell him. But she had brought it up. She gave him the gist of her conversation with Max.

Booth seemed very still while he listened. "Do you agree with him, Bones?"

"I… I could have pointed out that he was conflating several different criminals and situations. Or that he sought out the men he killed, whereas I only did it to rescue someone from imminent danger."

Booth nodded. He didn't say she'd evaded the question. "Max does claim to know about killing to protect."

"Even the eviscerating and immolating?"

Booth winced. "Well. He has a flair for the dramatic. Seemed to think it was necessary, to send a message."

Brennan studied him. "You know about killing to protect, too. The difference is that the government told you who to kill, in order to keep others safe. My father… makes his own rules."

She realized Booth might find that statement upsetting, but he didn't look it. "I know you don't wear that lightly," she went on. "I thought my father did, until now. Because during his trial, he was… He didn't allude to any of this."

"So why did he tell you now?" Booth asked. Then he tilted his head. "How would you have felt if he said that three years ago?"

"I don't know. I could have thought… he was doing it to get a certain reaction out of me."

"You didn't trust him very much, did you? And I can understand that. This time, though… you have a better relationship. He's trying to help you out, by revealing something."

"He doesn't regret killing those people. It seemed like part of him was _proud_. But he was also… he was troubled by it. I never saw that before."

Booth reached across the table to touch her arm. "Even so... Are you afraid you're too much like him?"

"No… Maybe." She met his eyes. "You told me I'd be okay, after I killed the first time. And I was. Then, when I shot the woman who'd been stalking you, I didn't even think about it. Not at the time and not afterward. Now, with Dawes…" She took a slow breath. "Sometimes, it sickens me. But then I remember what he did to those two girls, and would've done to a third, and I want to shoot him all over again."

"I know." His voice was very low. She watched him touch the back of her knuckles, then turned her hand to grasp his. "After the first time," he said, "maybe it is easier. It shouldn't be. But the circumstances, Bones—Dawes had killed before. He had a girl tied up. And he shot you. That does make it easier."

"Or at least… less hard."

"Yeah. A little less hard." Keeping hold of her hand, he stood up, and bent to kiss her on the head.

It made her smile. "What was that for?"

"What?" His eyes twinkled at her. "It was a thank you for that delicious, healthy dinner. And for… Let's just say it was easier than getting you another Jasper."


	29. A blind man could see it

**A/N: **For various reasons, I've had a busier week and did not respond to reviews from last chapter. Sorry! I'm glad to have you all as readers, and always enjoy hearing from you. Meanwhile, this chapter is short, but I worked on it instead of doing a job application. Because there are still a couple more days before that deadline. Aren't you glad I have my priorities in line?

**Part 29  
**

The next week, Brennan resumed physical therapy.

Angela made it her business to know these things, of course. Bren said the wound had re-sealed itself, and while it was still tender, she no longer lived in fear of stretching it or bumping into something when she moved.

She also came back to the lab. Not officially; more to talk to people and get a look at some bones. She'd been in touch with Clark, and had meant to go straight to the bone room where a Limbo skeleton was laid out—one that was stumping the intern as to identity and cause of death. But she never got that far, because her friends swarmed around her as soon as she entered the lab.

"Welcome back!"

"It's great to see you, Dr. B."

"You better not be here to work, but just for lunch, right?"

Hodgins and even Clark shook her hand so enthusiastically, they should have just hugged her. Cam and Angela did hug her, and then Angela stepped back to model the new maternity top she was wearing. "I know, I don't even need them yet, because my old shirts still fit. And I thought the selection would be awful. But look at this!"

Brennan admired the blended pastel colors. "It's like an Impressionist painting." Angela beamed and twirled around so that the loose hem flared outward.

A few minutes later Booth arrived, and they made just as big a fuss over him. "Come on," he finally said, amid the throng of people. "It hasn't been _that _long since I've been here."

"Actually, it has." Angela saw Cam glance between him and Brennan with a speculative light in her eyes. "So, are you two a real couple now?"

They looked at each other. Booth, trying to hide a smile, nodded for Brennan to answer. She folded her arm into his. "Yes. We are."

Everyone was smiling, big smug smiles, as if they'd already known. Because Angela knew, of course, and she'd _had _to tell Hodgins. Then, they couldn't really keep it from Cam... So that left Clark.

"Well, it's about time. Congratulations!" Grinning, he clapped them both on the back. "I knew you couldn't last much longer. I mean, a blind man could see it, the way you two…" He trailed off, noticing the pair staring at him.

Angela just laughed. She led them all up to the lounge, to sit on the couches and pass around the food she'd ordered.

Brennan, typically, wanted to know all the lab-related news.

"Perrota and Wendall finally solved that murder," Cam said. "It took them a while, compared to _your _average turnaround. And Wendall felt badly that the main clues came from investigation and not from the remains. So he was in the lab going over the bones again, while Perrota and another agent went after the main suspect."

Angela had claimed the same couch with Brennan and Booth. Now she handed her friend a carton of noodles. "Can you eat this stuff yet, honey?"

"I still have some dietary restrictions. But this should be fine."

Cam took the interruption as a chance to eat another bite, and asked Booth, "Don't you know this story already?"

"Yeah. Bureau gossip."

Brennan turned to him. "Why didn't you tell me? It's a case we would've been working."

"I don't know, Bones. I was going to, but… I'll just let Cam tell it." He gestured for her to continue.

Bren looked like she wanted more information, but decided to hold her tongue.

"Well, it's Perrota and this other agent going to question the suspect," Cam said. "The two of them knock on the door of this house, way out in the country. The guy's cousin answers the door, trying to stall them, while the perp runs out the back. They give chase across the yard, and it turns out he had a gun in his belt. He hid behind this shed and took a shot at them. Nobody got hit, and they were able to circle around and catch him without incident… But Perrota said she felt that bullet whistle past her ear."

Angela blew out her breath. "Thank God Wendall wasn't out there." She looked at Booth and Brennan. "Thank God you two weren't."

"Yeah." Booth took a swig of his drink. "It's a good thing I'm not letting you out in the field again."

"You know I support that. Sorry, Sweetie."

"What do you mean, _not let me_?" The temperature of the room seemed to drop a few degrees.

"Honey, he's just—"

"No." Bren looked from Angela and back to Booth. "You're not joking. There's an element of truth there."

"Yeah, but… I just said it, I wasn't trying to..." Booth stabbed his fork into some rice and stopped fumbling for words. "You said yourself, you don't know how you feel about going back into the field—and maybe facing down armed gunmen again. But I know how _I_ feel about it." He lowered his voice as though the others wouldn't hear. "I don't intend to let you, because I am _not _putting myself through that again."

That made Brennan pause a moment. "It's true I haven't decided anything. But it's my decision, not yours."

"Well, it should be both our decisions. We're a couple now, that means we have some kind of say in what the other person does."

"I don't see how—"

"I have to agree with Booth," Clark chimed in. "See, the way my girlfriend and I look at it, when the two of you are together…" He was leaning forward in his seat, watching them with keen attention. But now he realized the entire team was looking at him, and his expression turned into horror. "Good Lord, what am I saying? I should be… This is not how I usually am. I mean, change is good, but… no." He stood up, shaking his head. "I have work to do. Serious, serious work. Thanks for lunch." He beat a hasty retreat.

Angela didn't know whether to laugh or feel sorry for the guy. "I guess it was all too much for him." She shot Booth and Brennan a roguish glance. "You are kind of intense."

Booth patted Brennan's knee and whispered, "We'll talk about this later, okay, Bones?" He pushed some vegetable stir fry into her hands, as if that would distract her.

It worked for about one second, but Angela knew she was still ready to argue.

"So, Jack…" She decided to take pity on Booth and change the subject. "What should we talk about first? Our plans for decorating the nursery, or the changing-of-the-guard type schedule you're drawing up, _way _in advance I might add, for who has to wake up with the newborn baby?"


	30. Sweets

**A/N: **Friendly warning, this chapter cuts off a tad abruptly. I can't stay up late working on it, because I'm going for a hike in the mountains tomorrow. (Yay!)

**Part 30**

Booth and Brennan came into Sweets' office arguing.

"That sounds like a terrible idea."

"What are you talking about?" Booth held the door for her. "This is a compliment to my expert knowledge and ability to mentor new agents."

"New, as in fresh out of the academy! And I thought you said you didn't want another partner."

"I don't, not really, but I should have a temporary one when I'm out in the field. Until _we _decide what we're going to do."

By then they had taken their seats and looked at Sweets to include him.

As he settled in his own chair, he couldn't help smiling. He had missed them. It wasn't professional; he supposed to keep his personal feelings separate from their therapy sessions. But it felt really good to have them back.

"That's one of the things we wanted to discuss with you," Brennan said without preamble. "Whether we will resume working together and whether the FBI will allow it."

Sweets ignored that for the moment. "Good morning, Dr. Brennan, Agent Booth. How have things been?"

Brennan sighed. "I forgot the pleasantries. I apologize."

"Things have been great, Sweets. How about you?"

He shrugged. "It's been a little dull around here, to be honest. Doing therapy and some profiling for the FBI? Not as exciting as working cases with you." Plus, he was preoccupied with Daisy. _Because I don't know where things stand. Are we back together or just having sex? _But he told himself to stay on task.

Briefly, he studied Booth. Same suit, same colorful tie and belt buckle. His body language was more relaxed than usual, in this office. When he said things were great, he wasn't trying to gloss over the argument with Brennan. He meant it.

Sweets asked first about Brennan's progress and healing. "You look very nice, by the way." She was dressed professionally—skirt, blouse, jacket—and he wouldn't have guessed she was still recovering.

"I don't have physical therapy today, so—"

"Just mental therapy. Right, Sweets?"

Brennan was unperturbed by his joke. "So, I wanted to look like I usually do when attending sessions, or spending time at the lab." Booth opened his mouth again, but she hurried on. "A _little _time at the lab. And then I'll go home and rest."

She explained that while she was able to walk farther distances, she was still restricted to light physical activity, and often required afternoon naps.

"She still has some pain, too," Booth chimed in.

"That's just minor." Brennan frowned as though thinking, 'It was unnecessary to bring it up.'

"It's not minor, not if you still wince every time you get up, and we don't know what's causing it."

"What's causing it is that I was shot by a nine millimeter projectile. The recovery process takes a long time."

"I know." Booth smiled weakly. _I just worry. _The last phrase was clear in his expression.

And the look they were exchanging right now… It made Sweets sit up straighter. He could see the predicted guilt on Booth's face, and the exasperation on Brennan's. But they _understood _each other. On some level they hadn't before.

Sweets had an inkling of what Brennan meant with one of her first statements. He repeated it now. "So, once you're cleared for active duty, why wouldn't the FBI allow you back as partners?"

Booth glanced at her, speaking in a low tone that Sweets was meant to hear. "He doesn't know, huh? I thought he might have found out, because of Hacker or Angela or his own shrinky senses…"

"I might have found out _what_?"

Booth nodded to Brennan, who said, "Well, I should start by saying that I was mistaken."

"Uh huh." That had lost him.

"Yes, when you wrote in your study of us, in your book, that we were in love? I refuted that. But, as it turns out, you were correct."

"I was correct," Sweets echoed. "That you two are in love?" His voice squeaked.

Deliberately, they reached over and took hold of each other's hands. "Yeah," Booth said, and then grinned like a teenager.

Brennan went on in her perfectly composed manner. "Booth knew at the time, of course. I did, too. But… I didn't admit it to anyone. Even myself."

They both watched him while he searched for words. He must've been speechless for too long because Brennan asked, "Are you okay?"

Now they looked as concerned as they had after telling him the story of their first real case, when they'd 'missed their moment.'

This time, though, Sweets was overjoyed. He jumped up, tossing professional reserve out the window. "This is… This is awesome. I am so happy for you guys." He went over and shook their hands vigorously.

Brennan looked amused. "You can say 'I told you so,' if it would make you feel better."

"Aw," Booth muttered, "he's so happy that mommy and daddy duck are getting back together."

"But we weren't together before. I mean, not officially."

Clearly she understood the reference, and so did Sweets. When Gordon Wyatt had cooked dinner for them, they'd all teased Sweets about being the baby duck in search of a family. But they'd done it with such genuine affection that he hadn't minded a bit.

Booth waved a hand at him. "Sit down, kid, you're making me nervous." Sweets realized he was still standing in front of their couch, grinning like an idiot. He sat down.

"Are you going to forbid us from working together?" Brennan asked.

"Hacker already knows we're a couple," Booth pointed out, "and he hasn't forbidden us."

"But he implied that he might, didn't he?"

"Yep." Booth no longer seemed relaxed.

And now Brennan looked anxious as well. "_You _tried to forbid me, too. From going out in the field again."

"Bones," he groaned, "do we have to talk about that here?"

"Yes, I think we should." She turned to Sweets. "Booth made an offhand comment the other day, that he wouldn't let me go back in the field. But whenever I ask him about it, he avoids the topic."

"Because," he grunted, "I don't want to get yelled at."

"Booth, I'm not—" Her voice rose in disbelief. "I'm not emotionally unhinged. I won't yell at you for no reason. Unless, there _is _a reason…?"

Sweets stopped them, asking for a summary of their exact words. They told him, still looking outraged by the other's reaction.

He gave Brennan his opinion first. "I believe it is your decision whether you'll return to the field. But Agent Booth's feelings should be taken into account, especially now that you're in a real relationship."

"I—" She looked insulted. "I know that. But what about _my _feelings? All the times I never had a say in what dangerous things you," she turned to Booth, "were doing."

He started to respond, but she kept going.

"It's fine for you, knowing I'm safe at home, or in the lab. But what about me, all the times in the past—even if we were 'just partners'—and now, when you're going out into unknown situations, with some new agent who has absolutely no experience?"

"Wait, Bones…" Booth didn't seem to know what to say first. "What do you mean _all the times_?"

Brennan looked at him like he was crazy. "All the times I've had to watch you go into danger and I couldn't do anything about it! Like you being kidnapped and I wasn't there, or getting shot out of nowhere, or 'dying' and I wasn't informed—"

"Whoa, whoa," Sweets said. "Okay, time out."

"No, no time out. Bones, I know how you feel." Booth twisted toward her on the couch, but he wasn't doing it to comfort. "Your partner being in danger? Haven't I been there too many times? I mean, you want me to make a list? Like just last month, of all the life-threatening peril you've been in because of how good you are at your job?"

They glared at each other, and Sweets took advantage of their momentary shock to jump in. "There are clearly some strong emotions here. Why don't we take a little time, just sit back and explore this a little more?"

He made a calming gesture with his hands, and reluctantly, they relaxed their posture. "Okay. Now, first, I think there's been a misunderstanding. Dr. Brennan, it felt like Agent Booth was forbidding you from doing something, right? Like he was trying to dictate to you, or exert control, now that you have this recognized, emotional claim over each other?"

She didn't answer, but the set of her jaw admitted he was correct.

"That's not what I—" Booth started.

"I know," Sweets said. "You were just expressing your feelings. Your ideal world, as it were. One where you _do _have that control, to keep your loved ones safe."

They avoided looking at each other, and he knew he'd struck a chord.

Finally Brennan said, "I can understand that."

Booth nodded. "I'm sorry if—"

"No, don't. I know _why _you said what you did. I just… I'm not sure how I feel, about returning to the work we did. But I want it to be my choice. Our choice. Not Sweets' or Hacker's."

Her husky tone made Booth's eyes gleam with emotion, and Sweets held his breath. That word _ours_ had really meant something. Watching this unspoken intimacy, Sweets felt forgotten. Kind of like a voyeur, too. He wanted details. How far did the intimacy extend, exactly…? But he couldn't think of a professional-sounding query. Booth would just tell him, 'Get your own sex life.'


	31. Waited long enough

******A/N: **Thanks to jsq for a beta read, and to mendenbar for the idea of quoting what Booth once said to Zack, who wanted to ask advice about sex. (You'll know the line when you see it. :)

**Part 31**

Booth and Brennan had reached a partial truce when they'd left the office.

Sweets challenged them about their priorities, given the risks of crime fighting. While he could tell they didn't like it, he knew his point was valid.

"As a representative of the FBI, let me ask you this. When returning to work as partners, now that one of you has had a recent brush with death, can you say that the other person's safety would _not _be your main priority? Are you sure that your primary goal would still be serving justice—catching bad guys and saving victims?"

Booth groaned about theoretical arguments, and Brennan, too, looked defensive. Sweets wanted to say, 'I know I'm right. You're just clinging to your partnership because it's been your way of life for so long. And if that has to change, you don't want someone else making the decision for you.'

In the end, Sweets agreed that they could plan on returning to their usual partnership. He and Hacker could give them a trial period, to evaluate their performance. It wouldn't be effective until Brennan was medically cleared, anyway.

Before they left, Sweets had one more trick up his sleeve. Well, a question, really. "So, guys… If I can be a little less formal for a minute… How are things going? You know, with the relationship?"

They looked at him, then at each other. (He knew it was a small miracle he'd gotten this far with them.)

"Look, I'm not your therapist right now. I'm just asking… Are things as good as you expected?" Wait, he thought, that sounded bad.

And that's exactly how Booth took it. He stood up, pointing at Sweets while opening the door for his partner. "If you _do _ask, I will take out my gun and shoot you."

-.-.-.-.

That night, Booth got home late from a meeting. He stripped off his suit and pulled on workout clothes, deciding to go for a run.

When he got back to his apartment, Bones was waiting for him. She had let herself in with her key—the ones they'd originally exchanged, to have in case of emergency. Now, he told himself, it's because we're a real couple. The fact always made him smile. Even if, after six years, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

"Angela gave me a ride," Bones told him while he sat in the hallway unlacing his shoes. She sounded a bit irritated, but resigned. "I should give myself a little more time to heal, just in case." Because even driving, he knew, utilized the muscles she had injured.

"I picked up a sandwich for you, from that Italian place you like."

"You did?" He stood up and pulled off his windbreaker. "That's great, because I was wondering what I had left in this place to eat."

Too hungry to shower first, Booth sat right down to dinner. Bones had eaten already, but took the seat across from him, holding an unopened science journal. She smiled as he took a gigantic bite, savoring the sandwich.

A minute later she turned pensive. "Do you think Sweets is right, that our priorities have changed?"

He shrugged. "I could've told him, we put each other as a priority long before now." Swallowing another bite, he looked up. "What do you think?"

"We've always valued our partnership very highly. And we've saved each other's lives several times. But… I do feel a strong desire to protect what we have now." She held onto the science journal a little too tightly. "Booth, I meant to tell you… You're supporting a double standard! I want to forbid you too, from going out in the field. But I suppose you'd have to quit your job, to do that." Only Bones, he thought, could deliver those lines with such a combination of fierceness and pragmatism.

"Look, baby." She frowned at the endearment. "I promise you, I've had enough adrenaline to last me a while. I even asked Hacker… You know he put me on easy, low-risk cases, since you got shot. And I asked him to just leave me on that kind of stuff for now."

"You did?" He watched the emotions shift over her face: surprise, guilt, and some definite gratitude. "Maybe you could… If you would tell me the details of the cases you're working, especially when your new partner is a totally untried agent… it would make me feel better." She paused. "Does that seem fair, since you know _I_ won't be doing anything dangerous?"

"Yeah, that's fair, Bones." He smiled. "I mean, unless you go overboard with physical therapy, or you need to kick someone's ass on the street because they tried to snatch an old lady's purse…"

"That is extremely unlikely. I haven't resumed martial arts practice and I've lost all my conditioning."

He smiled at her typical Bones answer. "Nah. I don't think you ever lose all of it."

They sat in comfortable silence while he finished his meal, and she tried to read a scholarly article. Tried, because she'd started to look sleepy… and she was watching him. It was easy to see, right across the table. How her eyes wandered: out the window at the dark street, or around the kitchen, but mostly, to him.

To his hands or mouth, as he ate. To his shoulders and chest. He still had on the sweaty t-shirt from running. He smirked to himself. Is that what caught her attention?

After a few minutes, she realized that _he _had realized. Now she wore a lazy little smile, as her eyes roamed over him.

As fun as this was, he decided to call her on it. "You okay, there, Bones? You look kind of… dreamy and out of it." His tone invited her to keep playing, if she wanted to.

She leaned back in her chair and stretched. "I did have a tiring day."

"Hey. Did you spend too long at the lab again?"

"I didn't mean to. But one thing led to another… and I didn't get much rest in the afternoon."

Instead of scolding her about it, Booth suggested she go right to bed. "I'll clean up the kitchen. There won't be much to do, anyway."

She agreed, and when he entered the bedroom a little later, she was already tucked in. She'd been reading that same article, sitting with pillows propped behind her, but she'd dozed off. Her head was bowed to one side, hair half covering her cheek.

Booth took a moment to appreciate the scene. _My genius scientist. Reading her squinty articles and falling asleep in my bed. _He drew a big breath of contentment.

She was awake when he got out of the shower. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he went to get a pair of boxers from the dresser.

He saw Bones put the journal aside. He could feel her eyes on him.

The bed creaked as she got up, and he turned to find her right beside him. She met his eyes, then deliberately looked down his body to the tucked-in edge of the towel. "Can I help you with that?"

Her voice was husky, but his squeaked. "Uh, what, Bones?"

"This." Her fingers touched the towel, then trailed along his navel, making him suck in his breath. She stroked up his torso, lingering at the scar on his chest, that he'd gotten for her. "You're beautiful."

"That's… not something I hear a lot."

"It's true." Her eyes met his again. Deep and dark in this light.

He put his hands on her waist, moving her tank top just enough so he could touch her bare skin. Her breath seemed to quicken, and when she spoke again, it was with this throaty calculation that made him dizzy.

"It's been two weeks since we embarked on a real relationship. And we've been sleeping in the same bed for the majority of that time."

"Yeah..."

"I know you've been aroused sometimes, when we sleep close together. So have I. And I don't want to wait any more." With a deft motion, she freed the towel from his hips and tossed it aside.

"Bones—we—the doctors said you shouldn't—"

"My physical activities are still limited, so I shouldn't be planning any rigorous lovemaking. But…" Her hands smoothed down his flanks, curving around to his lower back and the top of his ass. "I can think of plenty of things to do with my hands, and my lips." Her nails dug into his flesh. "Can't you?"

He gasped, and laughed. Then he bent his head to tuck against her neck, and show her some of what his lips could do.


	32. Daydream, Nightmare

**A/N: **Cliffhanger ahead. You have been warned. :) Thanks to jsq for reading and sending feedback.

**Part 32**

Brennan stood in the bone room, examining a partial skeleton from Limbo. It had been a slow week for victims of accident and crime, but the lab team had plenty of museum work. Which was just as well, so she and Booth wouldn't be 'tempted' to solve any murders together.

Brennan still had to take it slow, almost six weeks after surgery. She came to work about three times a week, for half days. Aside from walking and physical therapy, she didn't want to go anywhere but the lab. A busy place like the Founding Fathers—it could be smoky and loud, and people might jostle her still-tender side.

Booth seemed cautious as well. They were, in his words, still 'settling in' to the relationship, spending about half their nights together. When he drove her to work in the morning, he would hover and pester her, to be sure she wasn't taking on too much. But he did it because he cared. And all she needed was a couple days apart, before she gladly welcomed him back.

A week after she'd 'ambushed' him coming out of the shower, they still hadn't had 'actual sex.' It would be too easy to get carried away and stress her healing tissue. But they'd found many other things to do.

Brennan smiled, turning the scapula she held in her hands. She was very pleased with her exploration of Booth's physique. And his exploration of hers. That first night, he'd said, 'I don't know how we waited this long. But then, I've waited six years to get you into bed. I'm sure I can wait another few weeks… for the whole thing.' He grinned, sprawled beautifully on the covers, naked and satisfied.

That was after she'd 'had her way with him,' and the next moment he was pushing her gently onto her back and kissing his way down her body. She lay, flushed and tingling, while his lips trailed shivery fire across her skin. But then he'd stopped, and it took her a moment to realize why. His head was bowed just below her breasts, at the level of her injury. She knew what it looked like: the puckered scar from the bullet, and the pinkish-purple seam following the base of her ribs; in places, still scabbed and raw.

Booth looked up, his eyes gleaming with tears in the lamplight.

"Don't," she whispered. "Don't cry. Don't _stop_." She reached out to caress his hair, ruffling her fingers through it.

He nodded, still overcome with emotion. His head bent once more, and he kissed her, softly, on the healing wound. She felt his warm breath on her skin. Then he raised his head, while her hands dug urgently into his shoulders. The gleam in his eyes turned playful. His mouth descended on her hip, while one hand slid up her inner thigh.

-.-.-.-.

"Wow. You are _not _thinking about bones."

Angela stood in the doorway, trying to discern her friend's expression. "You've been daydreaming all week. And I bet I know why…" She prowled across the room to stand next to the exam table.

"I do not daydream." But Brennan glanced down at the bone she was holding, like she'd forgotten what she was doing.

"Oh, yes, you do. Because how could you not? After all these years of flirting and buttoned-up hotness, you and Booth _finally_…"

Bren didn't say anything. But she started to smile, a secret, languorous smile.

"Brennan... _Tell_."

To Angela's delight, she did.

"Well," the artist said once she was up to speed. "That's a great reason for Booth to be late for work this morning. And I will say this—he is definitely worth giving up field work for."

Brennan's smile faded. "I didn't give up field work for him. I have to give it up until I'm medically fit to come back."

"But he gave up dangerous cases for you, didn't he? Besides, Bren… What do you _want_? I mean, do you really want to go back to solving murders, in all their depressing twisted-ness? To keep risking your _life _by working with criminals and dead people all the time?"

"That's what forensic anthropology is, working with dead people. And so is the study of ancient remains, which is still my first interest. But, I have been thinking…" She gazed down at the bones before her. "It wouldn't be so bad to continue the work I've done lately. Identifying missing people, like this one. Solving old mysteries. Not contemporary murders."

"Yeah, and maybe I should go back to drawing naked guys. I mean, I feel like this kid," she gestured at her belly, "will be scarred for life. Like he'll somehow absorb all these awful vibes, from my standing over disarticulated skeletons with you, or from studying crime scene photos, like the ones Agent Perrota's supposed to be dropping off."

"Angela, you know it doesn't work like that. Your baby will be perfectly healthy." Then she cocked her head. "What photos from Agent Perrota?"

"She already sent over clothing and shoes," Angela said, "for Hodgins to analyze for particulates. They're from two victims—two known criminals, actually—who were found dead in this old building. Looks like a crime ring gone bad, where the guys turned on each other. The FBI wants me to look at photos and reconstruct the events, to see if there's anything they missed. And if Hodgins can tell where they were hanging out before they went there."

As if on cue, Perrota appeared in the doorway. "Ms. Montenegro, there you are." She held up a manila envelope. "I've got the photos for you, print-outs and digital. We really appreciate you helping out." Then she smiled a little stiffly. "Dr. Brennan. Nice to see you again. You're looking well." Angela couldn't help wondering how much she knew about Booth and Brennan. And whether she was jealous.

"Thank you, Agent Perrota. So are you."

"Well, but I didn't take a bullet to the ribs less than two months ago."

"No." Brennan looked perplexed by the statement. "You didn't."

Angela intervened in that awkward conversation, taking the proffered envelope and asking Perrota about some of the latest Bureau gossip. The agent tried to sidestep, refusing to go into detail. But that's what Angela expected. Maybe off duty, the artist mused, with a few drinks in her…

Hodgins wandered in, looking half bored and half excited by his current crime-solving project. The four of them talked about his findings for a moment. "But I'm still waiting for the results of a few tests," he finished.

Perrota was about to leave, when her cell phone rang. "Excuse me," she said, and went to stand just outside the door of the bone room. "Yes, sir? …A what? Where? …Oh, my God! You don't know who—?" They all heard the raw anxiety in her voice. Perrota stood tensely, like she was ready to run off.

"…No… I understand… I'm at the Jeffersonian. Yes, sir… I can do that. But do you think I should…?" Now Perrota's eyes slid toward Brennan, and Angela felt her stomach drop. "Yes… But I… Okay, as soon as I can. …Um, right. My own discretion. Okay. I'm leaving now."

Perrota put away her phone and blew out her breath as though trying to calm herself.

Brennan was walking toward the door with an expression like a hound on a scent.

"What happened?" Angela asked.

With Jack trailing behind, they clustered in the doorway. "I have to get back to the Bureau right away," Perrota said. "That was A.D. Hacker. He needs me to cover something for him there, while he… handles a new situation."

She was poised to leave, but there was something she didn't want to say. Angela knew it. And so did Brennan. "What happened?"

Perrota knew better than to ignore that tone. "There was a shooting incident," she said carefully. "In a bad part of town, and two agents happened to be on the scene. They think it was a drive-by, but Hacker didn't even know…"

"_Which _two agents?" Brennan's face looked suddenly pale above her blue lab coat.

"Only one of them was hurt, but we don't know anything yet..."

"Whoa," Hodgins said. "Just tell us—"

Perrota took a breath and blurted it out. "Agents Booth and Luckett."

"_That's _his name?" Angela said stupidly. "The new kid who Booth's supposed to be mentoring?"

Brennan was shaking her head. "There must be some mistake. Booth isn't working dangerous cases." Perrota started to say something, but she insisted, "No, he's been working things like internet fraud and money laundering! _Not _ones where people are likely to shoot at you. There must be some mistake, Angela." Now she turned to the artist with desperation in her eyes.

"Hacker's on his way to the hospital to find out," Perrota said. "I have to get to the Bureau, but I will call you as soon as—"

"I'm going there too." Brennan's voice was resolute, but fighting down panic. "Which hospital?"

Perrota told her, and she was already unbuttoning her lab coat and hurrying to her office. Hodgins glanced once at Angela, before they both followed. Brennan stopped long enough to grab her jacket and bag, but she almost collided with them in the doorway. "Sorry, Sweetie. Do you—?"

"I don't have my car." She looked like she'd just realized it, and the panic in her eyes was stronger.

"We'll take mine." Hodgins used a firm, take-charge voice, that Angela might have thought was sexy, in another situation. "Come on," he said, ushering them out of the office. "My car's small and European. It's really fast."


	33. Anger or Shock

**A/N: **How about a slightly early update? :) Beta read by jsq. Thanks, pal!

Revised and re-posted, 8-14-11.

**Part 33  
**

That trip to the hospital was one of the worst drives that Angela could remember. And she'd been in a few.

There was the drive to the quarry where Brennan and Hodgins had been trapped by the Gravedigger. To the hospital a year later, when Booth had taken a bullet for his partner. To a different hospital, when Bren had been shot six weeks ago.

Every time, the motion of the car, and the worry, had made her sick. And she wasn't sure which was worse: being afraid for Brennan's safety, or afraid that her heart would be broken.

Angela had given Bren the front seat, and they both held on as Hodgins took turns and accelerated as fast as he dared. His knuckles looked white on the wheel.

"I still think we should've told Cam," he said. "She is gonna be pissed when she finds out."

"But what could we have told her?" Angela asked. "I'm sure she'd welcome an excuse to leave a meeting with the board members, but not _this _excuse. We'll tell her once we have some actual news, right?"

Brennan still hadn't said anything. Angela could see her profile, and the tense muscles along her jaw. Now she got out her cell phone and punched a number with mechanical calm.

"Sweetie, who are you…?"

"Booth. And Andrew Hacker."

Angela waited, trying to see the road ahead and wondering if she was going to throw up.

Bren put down the phone. "They're both going straight to voicemail."

"Well, if they're at the hospital," Hodgins said, "they have to turn their phones off, right? So they don't interfere with equipment." He met Angela's eyes in the rearview mirror. _Damn_, his expression said. _That was supposed to be reassuring. It totally failed._

A red light forced them to stop. Angela bounced her legs and tugged at the seatbelt strap. She heard Brennan exhale with a slow, shaky sound.

"Okay, look," she said. "This just shouldn't happen. The universe wouldn't do that. I mean, having Booth get hurt so soon after you did, Bren? The odds of that have to be really low, right?" Probability. That should make Brennan feel better. Maybe?

No one said anything, so Angela went on. "You know I don't go for mainstream religion like Booth. I don't believe in God, exactly. But I do believe in art and love and luck. And those forces just couldn't allow this to happen."

Brennan nodded distractedly. She didn't argue. Didn't take any kind of rational, scientific angle. Because she was probably thinking what had just occurred to Angela: whatever the situation, Booth was going to do the right thing. Not the _safe _thing. He would look after his partner, or civilians, before himself.

_Don't be a hero. _That's what Bren said she told him at the airport, before he went to Afghanistan._ Please, just… don't be you._

-.-.-.-.

Hodgins dropped them at the entrance while he went to park the car. Brennan was out the door in a flash, and Angela scrambled after her.

Inside, chaos reigned. Nurses hurried, patients moaned, and carts rumbled past.

Brennan elbowed her way to the nearest desk. "We're looking for two FBI agents who would've come in recently. One of them was admitted…"

The woman glanced at her computer screen, then skeptically at Brennan.

"Seeley Booth," Brennan said. "And Rob Luckett. I need to know—"

"Are you family?"

Angela pushed past an orderly to stand at Brennan's shoulder. "She's Booth's girlfriend. You have to tell her."

Brennan gave her a grateful glance. But the nurse wouldn't tell them anything. They were sent up to a different part of the hospital, to seek answers at another desk.

Angela followed in her friend's wake, trying to read the directional signs. When Bren refused to wait for an elevator, Angela panted up the stairs after her. Finally they burst through some glass doors into a waiting room. Brennan rounded the corner, and stopped.

Angela stopped too. Booth was sitting in one of the chairs, leaning forward with his arms on his knees. He saw them and stood up.

"Bones! I was just going to call you. How did you—?" He looked from her to Angela.

"Perrota," Angela said, breathless. "She told us. Because Hacker called her while she was at the lab." Now she noticed the assistant director standing down the hall, talking to a nurse.

Brennan started toward Booth. "You're not hurt?" Angela couldn't tell whether she was stalking with anger, or moving tentatively with shock.

"No. The kid got hit in the arm, and there were bystanders—"

Brennan took the last few steps and threw herself into his arms. Angela heard the 'oomph' as he caught and held her. They clung that way, tightly, for a long time. Booth turned his face into her hair and whispered something Angela couldn't hear.

She sat down, weak with relief. A gray-haired man sat in one of the other chairs. He glanced at Booth and Brennan, then gave Angela a wink.

Brennan pulled back, still holding onto him. "You said you weren't doing anything dangerous!" Her hands curled into his jacket and she gave him a little shake.

"I wasn't. It was—"

"Your new partner got _shot _and it wasn't dangerous? But you're not—you're okay?"

"Yeah. Maybe a scrape on my elbow when I dove for cover. I'm fine. But some other people… Two kids are dead, Bones. It was gang shooting. This car came around the corner before we knew it—"

"You were in an area known for gang violence and you didn't think you should mention that?"

"We were only there to interview—"

"I don't care! And none of us knew—you didn't call me to say you were all right!"

Angela saw him stroke her shoulder in reassurance. "I'm sorry. Bones, I'm not hurt. I promise." Then he smiled with a hint of his old mischief. "You want me to take my clothes off, to prove it?"

She didn't answer, and Angela saw his expression falter, in reaction to hers. He'd started to pull her closer, but she drew back, shoving his arms out and away from her. He stumbled back, off balance. Brennan was already tearing out, past Angela and down the corridor they'd come from.

Angela jumped up, torn about following Brennan or staying here. She felt loyalty to her friend, of course, and anger for the worry they'd all suffered. But she was curious about what had happened, and, seeing Booth's forlorn expression, sympathetic.

But first…

Angela crossed her arms. "All right. What is the deal? Drive-by gang shootings? Have you been _lying _to her, about the cases you're working?"

"What? No! Angela…" He stared at his hands where he'd held Brennan. "I know what it's like, to be afraid for someone I love. I wouldn't do that."

"No." She studied him. "I didn't think you would." Now she saw what looked like blood on his white shirt, and traces on his hands. He said… He'd seen people die on the street today.

"Okay," she said gently. "I'm staying. Just let me tell Hodgins."

-.-.-.-.

Finding a parking spot was a huge pain in the ass, even with such a small car. But Hodgins accomplished it, and jogged across the lot toward the hospital entrance. How was he going to find anyone inside? Would the staff even tell him anything?

Just as he got to the doors, Brennan came out of them. And his phone rang. "Dr. B," he called, fumbling for his phone.

It was Angela calling. "I'm going to stay here with Booth for a while, okay? I need you to find Brennan and stay with her."

"Um, already found her. Wait, Booth got shot and you need to—?"

"No. The new kid got shot. But Booth…" She lowered her voice. "He looks kind of shaken up. Brennan just pushed him away and ran, so… Hodgins, I need you to take her wherever she wants to go, as long as it's not an airport, and as long as you don't leave her side, do you hear me?"

"Uh, Angie… Wait, Dr. B, I'm in this lot here." Hodgins waved at her to head more to the right. "Angie, I really think we should switch roles, don't you? I can hang out with Booth, and you can…"

"No, I'm staying here. So that…" Booth said something in the background, and Angela addressed him. "Yeah, because I want to hug you too—and then hit you. I swear, between the two of you, I'll be lucky to have this baby before I have a nervous breakdown."

"Angie." Hodgins dodged parked cars, trying to keep an eye on Brennan. "I don't want you around all those hospital germs. You or the baby."

"It's only a waiting room, it's fine. You just stay with Brennan, until Booth and I can get out of here."

Hodgins had reached his car, and Dr. B stood by it, looking dazed and desperate. But, while he argued with Angela, her eyes focused on him. Before the conversation ended, she reached for the phone, and he handed it over, puzzled.

"Ange," she said, "tell Booth, I'm not leaving _him_. I just need to leave this hospital."

-.-.-.-.

**A/N: **Don't be too hard on Brennan, okay? Look, she's acting purely on emotion! And she'll make it up to Booth in future chapters.


	34. Dr B's heart

**Author's Note 1: **I have revised a short section of the previous chapter, which you might want to look at before reading this installment. Although I like to present as spotless a story as possible, I felt it was necessary, after hearing comments from my discerning reader and friend, la mome. I no longer thought it was right for Brennan to slap Booth in the waiting room, so I have her pushing his arms away and escaping. As my friend pointed out, why is it okay for women to hit men and not vice versa? If it had been the other way around, we would be telling Brennan to get OUT of that relationship.

My excuse might be that I let myself be overly influenced by that scene from Booth's fake funeral. She might've slapped him then, and at the "you're a bully" confrontation in ep 100, but she would not do so now. Not when they're in a real relationship, and she knows his family history.

Therefore, I hope my revision preserves Bren's feisty nature and the emotional overload of the scene, while being more about self protection, not actually causing pain.**  
**

**A/N #2: **Big thanks to jsq this week, for listening to me agonize over many topics both in fiction and real life. And to doctorsuez, for brainstorming about medical things, and, oh yeah, Booth getting a good scrub in the decontamination shower. (That happens next chapter. Off camera. Sorry.)**  
**

**Part 34 **

Fuck, Hodgins thought for the fourth time.

Brennan sat on the passenger side of his tiny car, crying. What was Angela thinking, setting him up like this? What the hell should he do?

Once they'd pulled out of the hospital lot, he saw that Brennan had her arms wrapped around herself like she was in pain. "Uh, Dr. B? Are you hurt? Or sick? Should I—?"

"It's okay." Her voice trembled. "I went up the stairs too fast. I shouldn't have done that."

No, he thought, please don't tear open your injury on my watch. But it should be healed enough by now, right?

"So, you went up to see Booth… Did he say what happened?"

She shook her head, then ducked her face away from him.

Definitely crying. Fuck.

He drove back through the city, slower than the first time. It would've made far more sense for him to stay with Booth. To sit in the waiting room and make bad jokes about… something. Because Booth wouldn't be crying. Would he?

At a stoplight, Hodgins glanced at Brennan again. She kept silent, but he could hear her congested breathing. She'd found a Kleenex in her bag and was wiping her face. If she didn't have an audience, he thought, she'd really let go.

The light turned green, so he pulled away, then changed lanes in preparation for the exit toward his house.

"So, Dr. B… Angela thought we'd go to my place, and try to chill out until she and Booth get there. Then you could all stay for dinner. You know, to make sure everybody's okay, Angie said. Wait, did you have lunch yet?"

She nodded.

"Right." He checked the clock. "It's kind of late. But dinner, what do you say? We have some great Indian dishes from this little restaurant…" He wasn't sure if he should keep talking or shut up, but decided to chatter like Angela would. Brennan would nod periodically. He didn't ask her any more questions.

Finally they were heading up the long drive of his estate. When they went inside, he tried to offer Brennan a drink, but she brushed him off. Dropping her bag and coat in the entryway, she disappeared down the hall toward the back of the house. He heard the door to the guest room close.

Well, shit.

_Don't leave her alone_, Angela had said. But if she needed to go cry in there…

Hodgins took off his shoes and lined them up on the rug. He hung his jacket, and Brennan's, in the closet.

Then he checked his phone for missed calls or texts. Nothing.

He considered going down the hall and listening at the guest room door.

Instead he walked into the living room and fiddled with the sound system. Maybe some NPR news. The announcers were talking about the stock market. Hell, maybe _they _would tell him something about the shooting. No one else had.

He flopped down on the couch.

This was ridiculous.

He would give Brennan thirty minutes by herself, and then he was coming in. Right now, he would call Cam. Angela probably hadn't had a chance to check in yet.

"You all _what_?" Cam yelled. "Booth was—_what_?"

"He's okay," Hodgins repeated. He told her what little he knew, and that none of them, him, Angela, or Brennan, would be getting back to work today. "But I'll call you," he promised, "or someone will, as soon as we know more."

Cam was still trying to get her head around it. "Some kind of gang-related shooting? Oh my God." She paused as if to collect herself. "Do you need me to do anything? What can I do? I mean, is Booth—? Is Brennan—?"

"Um, I think we're okay. For now."

She sighed. "I swear, those two will be the death of us."

-.-.-.-.

Hodgins didn't have to wait those thirty minutes. Brennan came out after about fifteen.

He'd been pacing around the living room, but had given up and collapsed on the couch again. He sat up straight when he heard her coming down the hall.

She hadn't tried very hard to conceal that she'd been crying. Her eyes were all red and wet. She did tuck a strand of hair behind her ear when she saw him, but didn't quite meet his gaze.

"I…" She gestured at the foyer and her voice sounded scratchy. "I need to call Booth."

He made a motion like, 'Of course, go ahead.'

She retrieved her phone, and lingered near the door for the call. Hodgins wasn't really eavesdropping. The radio was on, after all. But he could hear what she said.

"Booth, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left. And I'm sorry you went through that. You and Agent Luckett."

Now Hodgins wished he could hear the other side of the conversation.

After a moment Brennan said, "Lucky? Oh, is that one of the ironic nicknames that cops give each other? It was an obvious choice, given the sound of Agent Luckett's name. But now… Yes. He'll never live it down. So, are you…?"

She listened for a while.

"It's necessary, Booth. You got someone's blood on your skin. Therefore, you have to go the clinic and fill out forms and undergo tests. Yes, even if your vaccines are up to date.

"Do you want me to meet you there? …Well, yes. Okay. At Hodgins' place."

Then her voice got a little shrill, in reaction to what he'd said. "I know. But I need to hear what happened."

Booth's answer—or was it a question?—must've been brief. When they ended the call, she sounded hoarse, though calm. "I'll be here. I wouldn't run away, Booth. Not anymore."

Brennan stayed in the foyer for a minute after that. Just as Hodgins got up to check on her, she came in to summarize what had happened.

"Agent Luckett has to have minor surgery. To remove the bullet and repair a vein in his upper arm. Booth says his new nickname is Lucky, which is either ironic or sincere, depending on your outlook."

Hodgins opened his mouth to say something, but she was reaching into the closet to get her coat. "I need to go out. Just to walk around the grounds, if that's okay. Booth will still be a while. Angela said to tell you she didn't pick up any hospital germs, although how she could know that for certain…" She trailed off, and Hodgins could swear her eyes were watering again.

"I'll be back." She opened his front door and was gone.

-.-.-.-.

Jack still felt ridiculous.

He didn't have anything to _do_. He could make sure there was enough food for dinner, and that the guest room looked nice. He could text Angela. And he could watch for Brennan out the window.

She must have walked around the entire estate twice, which took half an hour. When he saw her passing the front of the house for the third round, he went out to meet her.

Pulling on his jacket, he crossed the driveway. "Could you use some company? Or some water?" He offered her a bottle, and she stopped by a tree, thanking him.

"My first thought was hard liquor," he said. "But this is a little better for you."

"Yes. It is."

She started walking again, and he fell into step next to her.

"Angie sent me a couple texts. She said everything was taking a long time, at whatever Bureau-appointed clinic Booth had to go to. And I think he talked to Agent Luckett's mom on the phone, too."

She shook her head, voice very soft. "He feels guilty. He's so hard on himself."

Hodgins couldn't think of anything to say to that. They walked across the grass in the direction of the tennis courts, and he asked, "Did Booth sound mad, that you left?"

"No… Lonely, maybe. And glad for Angela. She's good with emotional things. I… I'm going to be better."

"Hey," he said, and waited until she looked at him. "You already are."

She smiled a little, her eyes solemn.

Now the pond came into view, and past it, Zack's old apartment. Brennan gazed at it for a long time, but didn't say anything.

She'd left her hair down, rather than the ponytail she wore at the lab. Hodgins liked how her bangs curved on the side of her face. It reminded him of the way Angie used to have her hair.

"So…" He cleared his throat. He wasn't going to bring up Zack, but was this topic any better?

"We were alone in the car, coming here… and I couldn't help thinking of the Gravedigger. I, um… I wrote that letter to Angie. Because even if I didn't have enough time to act on my feelings, at least I was telling her about them." Glancing over, he couldn't tell what Dr. B was thinking. "I figured, you wrote yours to Booth."

"I did. And to Angela. And my brother." Her voice sounded strange, and he realized she was crying again. He pretended not to see when she swiped at her eyes.

They walked along thick hedges now, and the sound of traffic came through from the street.

"Telling people how you feel," Jack said, "isn't it better than letting them wonder? No matter how bad the situation."

She gave him a wry glance. "If that's some kind of commentary about today's events… You can't say I didn't express my feelings. Rather strongly, too."

"Angie did say something… about hugging and then—self defense moves?"

She winced and nodded. "It would probably help to clarify that. With words."

He had to laugh, and she smiled, sniffing at the same time.

They walked over a little rise and onto a gravel path that wound through some flower gardens.

Hodgins took a breath and released it loudly. "Man, if someone's going to get injured or die, there's just no good way to go about it."

Brennan raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, that sounded really stupid. What I mean is, if you could know how and when you're going to die, would you want to? Because… when we were in that car, buried… It was awful, and I would never want to go through something like that again. But at least… we had a little time. To write notes to people. To think about our life.

"Whereas, something like what you and Booth just went through? How he almost got shot, and you actually did? There's just no time. It's like… your heart gets run over by a bus. Metaphorically."

Brennan didn't say anything. Didn't criticize his description. She pulled her jacket more tightly around herself, like she was cold.

Now they passed a gazebo where Angela loved to sit. She had painted the sunset from there.

"Do you think," Brennan asked, "Booth is happy, working for the FBI?"

"Whoa." He glanced at her. "I guess so, yeah. Do _you _think he is?"

"He has seemed more happy recently. But…"

"But that's because of you."

She smiled. "That's not what I was going to say."

When she didn't go on, Hodgins thought about it. "He has seemed a little… different, since his coma. But if I had a dream that gave me a glimpse of another life, it'd make me stop and think, too. I guess it's just hard to see Booth as anything else. He's been in that position for so long—the Army, then law enforcement—I'm not sure what he'd do with himself."

"I might have some ideas. But I don't know how he'll react. And first, I need to know what happened today. And just... hug him."

Her voice was very low, and Hodgins felt like he'd overheard something intimate. Not the words, but the tone. Simple, vulnerable, tough.

"So, no shoving him and fleeing, this time?" If in doubt, he thought, joke.

"I'm holding off judgment and decisions until I hear what actually occurred. But no. No fleeing."

"Well, better you than me. I mean, to hug Booth. Because I thought it'd be better," he explained, "if Angie was here with you, and I was hanging out with Booth. But… I'm sort of glad it worked out this way."

Her eyes glimmered, in the afternoon sunlight. "Thanks, Hodgins. Me too."

-.-.-.-.

**A/N #3:** I just realized I am working nine days in a row, to cover for people on vacation. Most are half days, but most are also closing shifts (#&%$!). So, if I'm forced to skip an update next week, you'll know why.


	35. Love, Luck, and Art

**AN: **Hooray, I had time to write after all. But I can only give you the beginning; the rest needs more attention. So, minor cliffhanger ahead, before the serious stuff gets started. But I think you'll like where this is headed. Hint: B&B are already in a bedroom together. They can't just talk the whole time, can they?

**Part 35  
**

Booth let Angela persuade him that she should be the one to drive back.

"No offense," she'd said, "but you don't look like you're up to it."

And, after going through shootings and hospitals, a decontamination shower and Bones yelling at him, he didn't feel up to it, either.

But that didn't stop Angela from being her incorrigible self. She glanced at him from the driver's side of his truck as they headed toward Hodgins' place. "You look really good in scrubs, you know." At the clinic they'd given him those blue pants and shirt in exchange for his clothes. "You could play a doctor on some soap opera. A hot doctor."

He smiled weakly, appreciating the attempt to cheer him up.

"So, how does that even work?" she went on. "Do they have strict procedures for the shower thing? I mean, do you have people going in there with you, to hose you down and give you a good scrubbing?" Her eyes twinkled, and he shook his head at her. "I'm serious! I want to know."

"Just drive me back, okay, Angela?" He would have come up with some creative nickname, to poke fun at her. But he didn't have the energy.

-.-.-.-.

When they walked into Hodgins' mansion, Booth half expected another dramatic scene, like when Brennan threw herself into his arms at the hospital. To be honest, he could have used something like that. He felt tired and hungry and sick at heart.

But Bones was nowhere to be seen.

"I think she's sleeping," Hodgins said, pointing down the hall. "She must've walked four miles around the grounds. Kinda fast, too. And if she's still healing… I was a little worried, but she didn't want Advil or anything."

"She's done that distance before," Booth said. "It tired her out more than she wanted to admit."

Angela offered him food and drinks, but he needed to see Bones first. "Dinner can be ready whenever you are," Angela said. "Take your time."

Booth left his shoes, badge and gun in the entryway, and walked barefoot down the hall.

The guest room door stood open a crack, and he pushed it wider to see Brennan curled on the bed, facing away from him. He leaned there against the wall for a minute, looking. At the curve of her hip and her thick tousled hair. At the emerald green shirt that he'd suggested she wear—was that only this morning? It seemed like a long time ago.

Now she stirred and rolled over.

"Hey. Did I wake you up?"

She shook her head, sounding drowsy. "S'only half asleep." Brushing hair from her eyes, she sat up. She winced when she did it, but didn't seem to notice, like she was accustomed to that lingering pain.

Then she took a better look at his face, and held out her arms.

He shut the door behind him and came to the bed, sinking to his knees. His arms went around her waist, and he rested his head on her chest. She'd moved her legs wide to make room for him, and he felt her thighs on either side of his ribs. Now she was touching his hair, still a little damp from the shower, and running her hands over his neck and shoulders. It felt wonderful, but also systematic, like she was checking that he was undamaged.

After a while she said, "You smell strange." With his face against her chest, he felt her voice reverberate.

"Must be the kind of soap they had. Not bad, I hope?"

"No. Just different."

He took a deep, slow breath, letting her arms, and the smell of her skin, surround him. Then he let go, and got up to sit next to her on the bed.

He hadn't really looked around the room yet. It had soothing green walls, and a navy blue comforter on the bed. A bookcase on one wall and windows on two others, overlooking the grassy grounds.

There was a large photo over the bed, of vivid blue-green globules covered in soft spines. Like magnified pollen spores, or something more disgusting. It reminded him of the gift Hodgins had given Angela, the year they were locked in the lab with that Christmas lung fungus. (For all he knew, it could have been the same picture). Bones noticed him looking at it.

"I bet you know exactly what that is," he said, "don't you?"

"Not exactly. But I have an idea. Do you want me to tell you?"

"Yeah."

She reeled off several possibilities, with the scientific names of obscure things he'd never heard of. All he could think was how that green shirt made her eyes look like clear water. She smiled a little, probably realizing that the terms meant nothing to him.

He admitted, "I just like to hear you say all those big words."

If he'd expected her to laugh, he was disappointed. Looking somber, she took his hand in hers.

"Well…" He sighed, thinking back on the day's events. "Where do I start?"

-.-.-.-.

**AN:** Thanks to doctorsuez for the brainstorming that I continue to draw from (and for Booth in scrubs!).


	36. Love, Luck, and Art, part 2

**AN: **Thank you to doctorsuez for consulting, and to jsq and la mome for the thoughtful beta comments.

Between this and Mirror, I feel like I've written nothing but smut lately. ;) So, picking up right where the last chapter left off…

**Part 36**

"I told you about the case, right?"

"Internet fraud."

Booth nodded. "People getting caught in these pyramid schemes, so-called opportunities to invest money, but they make you bring in more investors to increase your profit or get back the initial fee.

"Cyber crime, that was Luckett's specialty area at Quantico, so he was all excited to take this as one of his first cases. A lot of work was actually done by the Bureau's computer geeks, but we still had to go get people's computers to bring in, and interview them about the tactics the scammers used."

"And that's what you were doing in that neighborhood?"

"Yeah. Bones… I've been in that area half a dozen times and no one's ever shot at me." He looked down at her hand in his. "I think it was pure dumb luck. Now there could be a turf war going on that we didn't know about. That street corner is right on the border of known gang territory. But it wasn't supposed to be actually _in _it.

"So, what happened was… We went to interview this shop owner, one of the victims who got taken in by the prospect of easy money. We were just talking to him on the sidewalk in front of his store. It's near the corner, along with a Laundromat and a magazine shop.

"What we didn't know was, there were a couple gang bangers right around the corner. And that a rival gang chose that exact moment to stage a drive-by." Bones took a sharp breath, though she'd heard this much of the story already.

"I'm sure they never would've done it if they'd known there were two cops on the street. But it all happened so fast…" He closed his eyes for a second. "We heard the car and the shots at almost the same time. I just acted on instinct—I hit the deck, and pulled the nearest person down after me, who happened to be the shop owner. And—it's a really good thing we had some parked cars in front of us. Because otherwise we'd have been way too out in the open."

Bones squeezed his hand, looking downright scared. He waited, and she said, "I thought… I was afraid you'd do that. I mean, diving on top of someone. To shield them." Tears shone in her eyes, but her voice shook with anger.

"I didn't. I just reacted. Tried to grab for the guy, but… I didn't, Bones. Not this time."

She looked like she wanted to say, _There better not _be _a next time!_

And he could agree with her.

"Well," he continued, "Luckett dove for cover just a fraction slower, and he must've caught a ricochet off part of the metal storefront. I drew my gun after I went down, but there wasn't anything to do except hide out behind the wheel of the parked car. I crawled around so I could see the retreating vehicle, and I got most of its license plate number… But I just didn't have a good angle to get off a shot or maybe take out one of its tires.

"So, then… after the car peels away, people are bleeding and there's a girl screaming and some alarm is going off. There was a man reading a newspaper who got shot in the leg, and Luckett's arm is bleeding… The storekeeper's freaking out, and around the corner, the gang bangers…" His voice was not steady. "One looked about fifteen and the other couldn't have been more than twenty. I went to check them, and they'd both been hit multiple times. One was already dead and the other… I didn't think he'd live until the ambulance got there.

"That's how I got blood on my hand." Booth lifted the hand that wasn't holding onto Bones. "When I was checking one of them for a pulse. _And _when I was keeping pressure on Luckett's arm, but both of us are up to date on our vaccines, so I didn't worry.

"The girl who was screaming—one of their girlfriends—she wasn't hit, but she wouldn't stop crying. I had to get her to help me, because we had that bystander who was hurt. The shopkeeper wouldn't stay, he was going into his store to see if customers were hurt and what the damage was. The shots broke some of his windows—he's had that place for about twelve years and knows it's not the best neighborhood but said he couldn't believe…"

Bones touched his hand with both of hers, and it helped him slow down.

"I was…" He took a breath. "I was kind of hard on the girl. Just a teenager too… I shook her and yelled at her, and she quieted down and did what I told her, to help the guy who got shot in the leg. Meanwhile I'm holding onto Luckett's injury, and they're both bleeding pretty badly. He's the one who actually called for help—Luckett—because he had a free hand." Booth gave a shaky laugh. "The arm that didn't have a bullet in it."

Brennan stroked his hand again, and he said, "Poor kid. He's barely Sweets' age. And, on one of his first cases in the field, with someone who's supposed to know what he's doing and watch out for him—"

"Booth…"

"No, I have two partners getting shot in two months? That—that is some track record."

"Shh. I don't care about that." He looked up, surprised at the defiance in her voice. "I just… I only care that you're all right."

"Well, Luckett's family will care."

"Yes. But he's expected to make a full recovery. There shouldn't be any nerve damage, from what I understand. Doctors had to repair the cephalic vein?"

"Yeah, I think."

She nodded. "It runs a good length of the arm and is the most superficial. That would have looked like a lot of blood at the time, but… it could have been much worse."

They fell silent for a minute. Booth stared at the bookcase and green wall in front of him. Bones leaned closer so their shoulders touched.

"All that trouble and violence for two teenagers?" She sounded as weary as he felt. "Just because they were in the wrong section of town?"

"Yeah. If the other gang thought they were. Or maybe it was all about retaliation. If the first kids had been doing something, like striking at rivals to gain entrance into their gang, maybe the second group had to up their game in response."

Bones went quite again. Then she said, "Did this… Did it make you think of Afghanistan? Or the Gulf?"

They'd almost never talked about his time in Afghanistan. But that had more to do with a certain blonde journalist, and less to do with war.

"Not while it was happening. But now… yeah. I mean, you can't help it. The sound of gunshots, of people screaming…"

And the smell of blood. He'd washed it off. But he still smelled it.

Bones was stroking his arm in comfort. Then he realized she was examining the elbow he'd scratched when diving to the ground. It was only a scrape, but she seemed determined to care for it.

"We should apply some salve to this so it doesn't get too dried out. In fact, the rest of your skin could use moisturizer. That soap they gave you was very dehydrating." She stood up, going around the bed toward the corner of the room.

"Bones?"

"Wait there."

She disappeared into the attached bathroom, then emerged with a bottle of lotion. He had to smile. "You think of everything, don't you?"

"Well, Angela and Hodgins do."

"Okay, as long as Angela didn't pick it out, and I end up smelling like potpourri or something."

Bones squeezed a dollop onto her hand and held it under his nose. "Acceptable?"

"Yeah."

She took his arm and gently smoothed the lotion over his elbow.

"Actually…" He sighed. "Who cares if I smell like flowers? It's better than blood or gunshot residue or weird soap."

She didn't answer, but let her actions do the talking. She massaged down both his forearms and over his hands. Then she crawled behind him on the bed and tugged at the hem of his shirt. "Let me see the rest of your skin."

He raised his arms obligingly as she peeled the scrub top over his head. Come to think of it, his back did feel a little itchy…

She spread a thin layer over his whole back, then rubbed it in. Her hands were warm, the lotion cool. Her fingers found a knot between his shoulder blades, and expertly kneaded it out.

"God, that feels great. How did you learn this?"

"Simple human anatomy, Booth."

She might have meant to sound smug, but didn't succeed. He got the sense she wanted to grab him and hold on for dear life.

Instead, she was so tender.

Her hands worked the tension out of his neck and shoulders. They caressed his shoulder blades and prodded down his spine. He felt ready to collapse on the bed and let her massage every one of his muscles. But she was focused on the rest of his skin.

Sliding off the bed, she sat sideways on the floor, pulling his feet into her lap. Her fingers drew firm circles around his heel. They pressed into the ball of his foot, and glided gently, almost tickling, over the arch. Booth felt his breathing get more relaxed. His skin was warm and tingly under her hands.

Next she pushed his pant leg up to bunch above his knees. She soothed the dry skin there, before massaging up and down his calves. He watched her face, her eyes intent and soft.

Bones was kneeling between his legs now. And she couldn't massage any higher without taking off his clothes. He felt his breathing speed up again, when her palms came down on the fabric over his thighs. She seemed to hesitate, then slid her hands along his legs. Slowly, up the inside, then down the outside.

Now she met his gaze, her hands confident.

"Bones…" he said hoarsely.

Her eyes looked smoky in the fading daylight. She took his hands and pulled him to his feet with her. Leaning forward, she claimed his mouth. Still so gentle, like she was trying to memorize his lips. But before long, emotion got the better of her, and she kissed like she would never come up for air.

When she finally did, they were both panting, and she'd thrown off whatever restraint she'd had. Her arms went around his neck, tight and fierce. To him, she felt just as strong as before she'd gotten shot. She held him for a long time before loosening her grip.

Glancing at the abandoned bottle of lotion, he couldn't help teasing. "What about the rest of my skin?"

"It can wait."

She wasn't trying to be funny. Her eyes were so full of love and worry, that suddenly the day's events came crashing down on him, and right now, he didn't want anything but this. His hands found her hips, pulling her hard against him. "Tell me you love me."

She leaned close, nuzzling his neck, and breathed it in his ear. "I love you."

When he moved back to see her face, tears welled in her eyes. "Please, Booth. Don't ever scare me like that again."

"I know, baby. I'm sorry. I didn't know Perrota told you, or that you only got half the story. It shouldn't have happened like that. Okay?"

"Okay." She nodded and wiped her eyes. Then she took his hands and led them to the top button of her shirt.

-.-.-.-.

It wasn't until they'd shed their clothes and tumbled onto the bed that his brain started working again.

He'd been drawing patterns with his tongue on the outer curve of her breast, when he remembered caution.

She opened her eyes, panting. "Wh—why did you stop?"

He laid a hand on the purplish scar angling across her belly. "We should be careful, you're still healing. Why not let me do all the work and then—"

"No." She hooked her leg over his hip and used the leverage to grind them together. _God, she was so—_

"I want you. All of you."

He wasn't going to argue with that. Except… "Remember, Bones. It's like driving a fast car. You've got to go gently."

She shook her head and dragged his lips back down to hers. Her hands were gliding over his back, hitting just those spots that brought him the most pleasure during the massage. And her hips moved against him—subtle, teasing them both.

But there was something else he was supposed to remember.

"Wait," he gasped. This time she glared at him, and he struggled to make his point as quickly as possible. "At the clinic—there's still a small chance I caught something, and I wouldn't want to—"

"No. I don't care."

"Bones—"

"Booth." She brushed hair from her face and found her rational voice, despite being naked and flushed and pressed right against him. "They gave you an antibiotic, right? And a thorough shower. You don't have any visible cuts on your skin, and the lab tests came back negative. After all that, the odds of contracting anything are so small as to be…"

"How small?" He put one finger on her throat and dragged it down between her breasts, through a sheen of sweat. Could she calculate the odds _now_?

She closed her eyes. "Shut up. I don't care." Her hips undulated, making him groan, and she kissed him.

She kissed him long and deep, until he forgot everything but the softness of her lips, and the hot sweetness of her body against his.


	37. Listen

**AN: **Thanks to my dependable reader jsq for giving the go-ahead.

**Part 37**

Booth and Brennan lay side by side, smiling dreamily at each other. He was admiring her still-flushed cheeks and the creamy tops of her breasts, revealed by the blanket they'd pulled over themselves.

When they were still panting in the aftermath, she'd gotten kind of emotional. Even incoherent. "Stay," she'd gasped. "Stay." Her body shuddered against his, with pleasure or fear.

"Shh, I'm not going anywhere."

"No—" She clung to him with legs and arms, their skin slicked together. "I almost lost you, too many times. I'm _not _going to let you go again."

That, he could understand. He buried his face in her neck, kissing her softly, and listened to her breathing gradually slow down.

Now, though, he could bet that his expression looked just as sated and goofy as hers.

"So," he said lazily, stating the obvious, "we finally had actual sex."

She had recovered enough to insist on precision. "What we did before was definitely sex. Just not intercourse."

"Oh, thanks for the clarification." Bones punched him gently in the arm. "And, when we finally get around to it, it's in someone else's bedroom."

"Well, this is a guest room," she pointed out. "And we're guests."

At that moment his stomach rumbled loudly. Brennan raised her eyebrows, smiling. "We should get dressed so you can have some dinner."

"Yeah. But it's too nice lying here." Darkness had fallen outside, and they'd switched on a lamp. Booth liked how the light made her hair glint brown and red. Now he rolled onto his back, pillowing his head on one arm. "Still… I feel kind of guilty enjoying myself, after what happened today."

"You deserve a break, Booth. We both do."

He took a deep breath. "But we're going to have to figure all of this out. Like what happens now."

"What do you want to happen now?"

"Aside from getting some food, and then going straight back to bed with you?"

"Yes." She smiled. "Aside from that."

"I really don't know. I thought… I had this feeling. When I was sitting there, holding Luckett's arm and seeing people bleeding onto the sidewalk… I just thought, I don't want this. Not anymore. Maybe I'm getting too old. But I don't want to put myself out there."

Bones was quiet for a minute. "You have been doing this job for a number of years."

"_We _have been," he said. "And I know today's not a fair judge of it. Because no one wants to get shot at. But… maybe I've been sick of all this for a while, without realizing it."

Brennan lay on her side, watching him, one hand resting on his shoulder. Now he raised his arm and gathered her against his chest. Snuggling close, she asked, "Do you feel that your gut is telling you something?"

He stared up at the ceiling. "Maybe. I mean, if your getting shot wasn't enough to turn me off this job, I don't know what is. But today… kind of felt like the last straw. Because when I think about certain cases…"

She lifted her head. "I remember what Sully said about murder solving. He said, _Do you really want to be a bone lady all your life? _And, _If you do this job too long, you get warped_."

Booth smiled crookedly. "Is that what you think I am? Warped?" She started to answer but he added, "No bringing up previous lovers when we're in bed together, okay?"

"Okay." She tucked her head down on his chest again. "But Sully might have a point."

He groaned with mock frustration. Now Bones traced her fingers over his ribs as if to distract him. "I guess I can't convince you to stay home from work tomorrow?" He looked down at her and she said, "I wouldn't ask you to. But if you did have a gut feeling… Even though it's too soon to make any major life decisions—"

"Bones, stop," he said gently. "We have time to figure it out. I guess I am going to work tomorrow, yeah. But I give you permission to follow me around all day and make sure I don't do anything remotely dangerous, okay?"

She didn't smile. "You have the security of knowing that I'll stick to lab work, at least until I'm fully recovered. But going out in the field is an integral part of your job. And today proved that even with low risk cases, anything can happen."

He pulled her closer, stroking her upper arm. "What are you saying, Bones?"

"I wouldn't ask you to do anything you don't want to do. But if I had some ideas for other jobs you might try… once I think it over some more, would you at least listen?"

That surprised him—though maybe it shouldn't. Her swift, gorgeous brain had already been planning other careers for him? "Yeah," he said. "Of course I'll listen."

A few minutes later, they got reluctantly out of bed and started collecting their clothes from the floor.

Booth watched her step into her underwear, thinking he could never get enough of looking at her. She had glanced at the photo over the bed, of those magnified blue-green pollen spores, or whatever they were.

She laughed, low in her throat. "Angela was right."

"Huh?" He was busy separating her bra from his pants, where they'd gotten twisted up.

"On the way to the hospital, Angela said she believes in art and love and luck. That those forces wouldn't let anything happen to you."

"Yeah?" He managed to free his pants, and put them on.

"Or God, if you prefer."

He came up behind her as she stood near the bed. "I know you don't believe in God…" He wrapped his arms around her: bare skin against bare skin. "Do you believe in luck, then?"

She considered. "You have faster reflexes than Agent Luckett, so you took cover more quickly. Still, if the bullets had ricocheted differently…" Her hands came up to grip his arms, over her chest. "And when I was shot… if it had hit a fraction to the side, I probably would have died. You know the distance between the hepatic vein and artery is—centimeters.

"So." She turned her head, trying to see his face. "Maybe I do believe in luck. But I also believe in concrete things. Your reflexes, for example."

"That's right." He smiled. "Lightning fast. Like a flea." Now he pressed his cheek against her hair. "Good thing, too, because I was out there thinking, if I get hurt, Bones is gonna kick my ass."

"Yes, I would have!" She wasn't really joking, and neither was he.

"Having just seen your injury up close, and having been shot myself… Believe me, I do not want to go through that again. I don't want to put _you _through that." He paused. "But I'm not ready to quit my job tomorrow, either."

He felt her nod, rather than answer. Holding her tighter, he gave a little squeeze, enjoying the feel of her breasts under his hands. Then he placed a kiss on her shoulder, and let her go.

But instead of getting dressed, she started pulling back the covers.

"What are you doing?"

"We should put the sheets in the laundry. It's the considerate thing to do when you're in the guest room, right?"

Booth stood there, holding his shirt. "But they're going to know what we did!"

Bones tugged at the edge of the sheet. "They're going to know anyway. Haven't we been in here too long for just talking? Besides, Angela already knows we've been sleeping together. And if she knows, I'm sure Hodgins does."

"But—it would be like this big announcement: Hey, everybody, we just had sex!"

Bones stood up straight. She sighed, tilting her head at him, as if to say, _really_? He raised his eyebrows pleadingly.

"Well, if it bothers you, then we'll leave it." She started to smooth the covers back where they were. "I don't know if it'll make much difference. I think… I was kind of loud."

Booth felt a slow smile spread over his face. "You were." He handed her bra to her. "And it was the hottest thing I ever heard."


	38. Appetite

**AN: **The author's notes might be longer than the story this time. I think I have enough ideas, just not the time to sit down and organize them (blame real life and work). So, I offer you this crumb.

**Part 38  
**

Booth followed Brennan into the kitchen where their friends were waiting.

"Oh, good," Hodgins said, and nodded at the oven. "Everything's ready, we're just keeping it warm for you."

Angela's eyes danced back and forth between them. It looked like she just couldn't help herself. "So, did you two work up an appetite?"

Booth felt his ears turning hot, but Bones said "Ange," with mild warning. She went over and whispered in her friend's ear.

"Well, all right." Angela eyed Booth, trying not to smile. "Let's eat, then. I'm starving."

At dinner, the conversation was somber.

Angela had already heard the story of the shooting from Booth, while they waited at the hospital, and Hodgins had probably heard it from her. Still, they talked about it a little. Booth filled in some of the gaps, while Bones asked for more detail about Luckett's injury.

After the meal, Booth got out his phone and made some calls. He talked to Cam and Hacker, then Rebecca. He'd timed it right, that he got to say goodnight to Parker. But because of what the kid had already overheard, Booth had to be straight with him. Yeah, his co-worker got shot. Yeah, he was there at the time. Parker was old enough that he didn't come right out and say how scared that made him. But it was clear anyway.

When Rebecca came back on the line, Booth wondered if she'd use this against him. Guilt-tripping him, the way she had in the past, about his son having nightmares that he'd get shot. But this time, she just sounded tired. She didn't reprimand him, didn't say, 'I hope you know what you're doing.' She just told him, "Take care of yourself, Seeley. And Brennan."

When he closed the phone, Bones was standing there in the hallway. Neither of them said anything, but she put her hand on his arm, watching his face. Then, "Let's go home, Booth."

When they left, Angela kissed them both on the cheek.

Driving back through the dark city, Booth glanced over at Brennan. He'd noticed, at dinner, that his lips had left a red mark on her neck. It was mostly hidden by the collar of her shirt. But he couldn't help smirking a little.

"So, Bones…" He'd just remembered something. "What did you say, when you whispered to Angela?"

She looked lost in thought, but now smiled. "I said I would tell her whatever she wanted to know, if she'd promise not to tease you."

-.-.-.-.

**AN again**: This story seems to have a pretty good readership. Thank you all for being on board. How would you like to help with my motivation for next chapter? Please send me a note about something you like in this story, and/or something you're hoping to see before the end. For instance, Hank might reappear.


	39. Living wide

**AN: **This is a bit later than usual , due to a mysterious email fail while communicating with my beta. But thank you, jsq, for coming through with comments.

I finally got down a nice long chapter. Thank me with reviews. :)

**Part 39  
**

In those days immediately following the shooting, Booth found it hard to concentrate on work.

He helped other agents interview the gang bangers who'd been brought in about the drive-by. And he pushed on with the cases of internet fraud that had drawn him and Luckett to that street corner in the first place.

But he got easily distracted. It probably wasn't surprising, what with his new partner's injury, his career uncertainty, and several beautiful, sexy scenes with Bones to remember.

But, after one departmental meeting, he returned to his office and simply stood in the doorway, staring at the room. Something had changed. It seemed he'd been running on adrenaline all this time, since Brennan got shot. But after the latest incident, his energy just wasn't there. It was like a switch had been flipped.

That weekend, he and Bones talked about it. On Saturday morning they went to a track near his apartment. He did a quick running workout, and then walked with her. She took the inner lane, their feet making barely any sound on the crushed rubber surface. They could hear traffic humming along the street behind the bleachers. On the far side of the track, Canada geese waddled across the grass.

"Hey," he said first, "I realized I'm missing a couple pieces of clothing. They must be at your place, because…"

"Yes." She listed the items. "I've washed them and put them in the closet."

Booth found it strangely appealing to think of his shirts and pants going around the washer with her things, and claiming space in her closet.

One of these days they'd have to talk about living arrangements. This back and forth thing could be fun, but…

He had other things on his mind.

When he tried to describe his lack of motivation at work, she called it "ennui."

He groaned. "Now you really sound French. But when I think back, I guess you're right. Because cases like that chicken guy, when I didn't know the murderer was guilty?" He shook his head. "It's not just that I didn't have confidence—that I'm supposed to know when people are lying. It was…"

He glanced at Bones as they walked briskly around the track. The cold breeze had made her cheeks flush, while the pale sunlight turned her eyes a clear gray-blue.

"I don't know," he said, "if it's worth it anymore. I'm sick of seeing the negative side all the time. People get mad or greedy or jealous, so they lie or cheat or take someone's life. And no matter how much you do, there's always another crime to solve, another person to put behind bars."

Bones stared at the lanes in front of them. "I think I felt the same way, during the Gravedigger's trial. Tired of it all. And scared for you. For Angela, Hodgins—everyone I care about."

She sounded a little breathless from the combination of talking and exercise. She could walk as fast as ever, but he knew she but didn't have her full fitness back yet.

Now Bones seemed to shrug off sentiment. "I have several ideas. First, you should take a break. And then research careers that let you escape those negative influences."

"I've been thinking of other jobs I could try. But all I could come up with…"

He remembered a conversation they'd had in the car a few years back. They'd been interviewing a family whose kids went to private school, and he'd started to doubt himself about sending Parker to public school. Maybe I could enrich Parker at home, he'd said, the way Brennan's dad had done for her.

She'd asked him, "In what subjects are you qualified to offer enrichment?" There was a big silence.

Walking around the track now, he felt just as dumb as he did then.

But she was nodding for him to go on.

"I mean, what am I good at, aside from being a cop? I'm good at shooting, and sports. Not even playing sports anymore—just watching them. Maybe coaching, for little kids."

"I think you'd be very good at that."

"But it seems like more of a hobby. I don't know how fun it would be, if there are a lot of pushy parents getting way too serious about the game. And these days, with how competitive and specialized everything has gotten, you probably have to have certifications and experience and a nice resume. Just to show some kids how to hit a ball."

Booth watched a twenty-something runner pass them. He sprinted down to the far turn, then slowed to a walk, glancing at the time on his watch.

"The other thing is being a sniper," Booth said. "Shooting people. And teaching kids how to shoot people."

Bones must've heard the bitterness in his voice, because hers was gentle. "I thought of that, too. But not the shooting, Booth. The teaching."

Then she asked him about Afghanistan, and what it was like to instruct young soldiers. "I haven't thought about it much since I got back. But… yeah. There were parts I liked."

Bones asked him a series of questions to tease out which parts those were.

Then she said, "Being in a war zone was obviously not ideal. You had to be more harsh than you would've wanted. But that's a valuable skill, too. Remember that case with the high school girls who all got pregnant? The boy who fathered those children—you sat him down and gave him some hard advice. I didn't hear; I don't know exactly what you said to him. I don't think he wanted to hear it. But you knew he _needed _to hear it."

They stopped at the end of the bleachers to drink the water they'd left there.

"You're good at knowing when to be supportive or be someone's friend," Brennan said. "But you know when to be tough, as well."

Booth thought about it as they started walking again. "You're telling me I should be a teacher, huh? Like at Quantico? Actually, last time I was there, a couple instructors told me I should come back and do a guest lecture…"

"You could do more than that. The academy is the most logical place to direct your talents. Because new agents possess only theoretical knowledge, they need someone to help them with real-world applications. And there are any number of areas where your knowledge would be beneficial. They should be glad to have someone with your experience."

"Jeez, Bones, you're making me sound old." But he promised to look into it.

"We didn't talk about my second idea yet. Will Hacker give you time off if you ask for it?"

"Maybe. But I've basically _been _taking a break. I'm not working murders."

"It's still work. Still crime." Bones had slowed a little, but he kept quiet rather than ask if she was getting tired. "I won't be back to work full time for another week or so. We could take a long weekend before that, and just stay home together. Cook and eat meals, make love, swim at my apartment…"

"Really? Temperance Brennan volunteering to take time off work?"

She rolled her eyes at him, but then sobered. "Earlier this year… I spent too much time at work. Because I had nothing to go home to. I thought… I would've given up many things, to have you to myself. To run off and spend time with you, no matter what the rest of the world was doing."

Booth stopped walking. For a moment, he couldn't say anything. "That's… Bones, that's one of the saddest, most romantic things you've said to me. I want to spend time with you, too. As much time as we want. _Doing _whatever we want. While the rest of the world can go fuck itself."

She smiled, slowly at first, but then with a brilliance that made his throat ache.

They turned, by mutual agreement, toward the opening in the gate that surrounded the track.

"Hey," he said. "Did you say swim and make love?"

"Yes, I did." She put a hand over her side. "My abdominal muscles are still weak, but they're getting better with physical therapy. The skin is essentially healed, so I could go in the water relatively soon. And even if I wasn't cleared for the _other _activity, well…"

He echoed her naughty smile. "That ship has sailed." As they left the track together, he slung an arm around her shoulders. "It was quite a satisfying ride, too."

-.-.-.-.

Later the next week, Booth walked into the Jeffersonian to take Bones to lunch.

He peered into Angela's office as he went by, and saw her lying on the couch with a sketch pad against her knees. Glancing up, she waved him inside.

He said hello and asked what she was drawing.

"Nothing serious. Just letting my fingers wander. How are _you _doing?" He heard the teasing edge to her voice, and wondered just what Bones had told her about their tryst in Hodgins' guest room.

"Fine," he said with his best poker face.

"Hey." Angela sat up, setting her sketch pad on the coffee table. "You're going as Brennan's date to that donor banquet, right?"

"The what?"

"Dinner with donors and trustees. You know, the semi-annual, get all dressed up, eat rich food and try to tell people—in a pretty way—about how we study dead bodies for a living."

"Bones hasn't mentioned it."

"Figures," Angela snorted. "She's been all misty eyed because of the exhibit we're doing about the Neanderthal genome. I get to help with one of the reconstructions, you know. Having a life-size Neanderthal guy standing eye to eye with visitors. Well, not literally eye to eye, because their average height was only…" She trailed off, looking suspicious. "What?"

"You do a good job of hiding it. But really, you're one of them. A squint."

Angela threw her shoulders back and gave him a haughty look. "That's a compliment around here." Then she beamed. "I'm going to this gala thing with Hodgins. He doesn't mind, for once. Now that we all know he's rich, it doesn't really matter. He can go rub elbows with the museum donors and lord it over them how he has this big meaningful job, and doesn't just sit around eating caviar or jetting off to Bali whenever he wants to."

Booth shuffled his feet and muttered, "Meaningful job."

Angela's expression turned to concern. "Are you okay? You came in here looking kind of… Did some other horrible thing happen at work?"

"No, no," he reassured. "It's just…" He shoved his hands into his pants pockets. "Hacker told me I almost got promoted."

"Almost?"

"Apparently there were questions." He sighed. "About why I never showed up, the night Bones got shot. Hacker claimed that he was able to forgive a malfunctioning cell phone or a momentary lapse in judgment. But there were other directors who weren't."

"Oh." Angela watched him, but when he didn't say anything, she motioned for him to join her on the couch.

He hesitated, glancing out at the hallway. "Bones and I are supposed to go to lunch…"

"Booth. When have you known Brennan to willingly leave any snippets of ancient material for something as frivolous as food? Come on. She won't even notice you're late." Angela patted the sofa next to her, and Booth gave in.

"It's not the first time I got passed over, either. Hacker says he's happy to keep me where I am. That I'm too good a field agent for my own good."

"Yeah, I'm sure you are. And Hacker? He's a real asshat. An _office _asshat, which is even worse."

Booth laughed. He leaned back on the couch, gazing at the latest painting that decorated the wall. "Thanks, Angela."

She was quiet for a minute, then said, "You know who this makes me think of? Sully." He gave her a look and she protested, "No, hear me out. You remember that time we were talking about the difference between you and him?" She smiled apologetically. "I know that bothered you. Because what did I say? That you're only a romantic of a narrow kind?"

"And Sully likes to _live wide_?"

"Yeah. But…" She studied him. "I think you've been 'living wide' a lot more, recently."

"You do?"

"Sure. If not literally with your job, at least with… I don't know, creative coma dreams, and then Afghanistan, blonde journalists—" He shot her another critical look, but she wasn't trying to rile him up. "What I mean is, you're doing new things, _thinking _new things. Like taking risks, finding your place and… settling down?" She cocked her head toward Brennan's office, smiling a little, and he acknowledged it with a shrug.

"Sure, maybe you were narrow then," Angela went on, "just living to catch bad guys, the first few years you and Brennan were working together. It was like the height of your FBI confidence and hotness. Not to insult you now, of course. And Brennan—she wanted a piece of that. The real-world action, and the hotness.

"But I always thought the glamour would wear off for both of you, long before now. Like once you finally slept together, then some of the energy would be dissipated and…"

"It all comes back to sex for you, doesn't it?"

"_No_." She pretended to be offended, but ruined it with a grin. "Love makes the world go round, babe."

"Well. The glamour has definitely worn off. If there ever was any."

Angela patted his knee. "Come on, there's always glamour. But if you want my advice, just keep talking to Brennan about this. Between the two of you, you can figure out anything."

"Yeah? She's already given me a bunch of ideas."

"Like teaching new agents at Quantico?"

"I see she's been telling you about it. The stupid thing is, why didn't I think of that myself?"

Angela shrugged. "Bren is good at seeing people's strengths. Or their weaknesses. And she doesn't mind telling you what all of them are. It was the same for me, you know, when I first started working here. Brennan saw something in me that I didn't see. She said I had 'a fine grasp of the underlying structure,' when I drew people's faces. So, a couple really intensive anatomy classes later, here I am." Angela waved her hand around her office. "But I wouldn't have thought of it myself. I was too wrapped up in my own life and problems, and the way I'd always thought about myself. As a free-spirit starving artist, and not someone who'd ever wear a lab coat and be around giant microscopes. Maybe like you," she turned to Booth, "only thinking like a soldier or a cop, and not a teacher or whatever else."

"So, I'm not thinking wide enough after all."

She returned his smile. "Hey, we can't change overnight. I stand by what I said."

"Well…" He thought back on his conversation with Hacker. "There's good news and bad news, about that almost-promotion. Word must've gotten around that I made a few inquiries at Quantico. So, people think I'm not happy with the current job anymore… They either promote me, to get me to stay, or figure, to hell with that guy, let's pressure him into early retirement."

"Would they do that?"

"If I didn't have a decent track record, maybe they would. It's been known to happen. But I mostly trust Hacker, and he's leaving me where I am right now. Plus, if I'm interested, he could put in a good word for me at Quantico. That was the good news."

"He's still an asshat. But at least he's useful for recommendations." Angela glanced at the clock. "Okay, you better go get Brennan for lunch. And figure out your lives while you're at it. But, if all else fails, you can come back here…" She reached for her sketch pad, wiggling her eyebrows as flamboyantly as possible. "Because when I decide to leave death and destruction and go back to drawing naked guys, I'm going to need a model."

-.-.-.-.

**AN: **Brennan's idea for taking time off comes from my daydreaming, during the depressing days of mid-season-6. It was tripped off by The Doctor in the Photo and lyrics to Lizz Wright's "When I Fall."

_I want to skip time, lay the hours aside_

_and stay with you, my baby._


	40. Black dress

**AN: **I don't know what's wrong with me lately. Probably burned out on several things, and the writing is suffering. But I get some time off next week. Maybe B/B will start to take over my brain again, rather than getting pushed into a back corner by RL stuff.

Thanks for the great reviews and ideas from last chapter. I keep meaning to respond individually, so you might still hear from me!

**Part 40  
**

Brennan stretched into downward dog on a yoga mat in her living room. She heard the key in the lock and Booth walked in, carrying what must be his tux draped over one arm.

Glancing upside down at him, she saw him smirk appreciatively. "I could watch you do that all day." But he stopped smiling and asked, "Your back doing any better?"

She carefully lowered herself and turned to a sitting position. "A little. I just wish this didn't coincide with the donor banquet tonight."

The previous day she'd strained a lower back muscle, the quadratus lumborum or erector spinae. It was after doing the usual exercises recommended by the therapist; she'd gotten overconfident and tried some martial arts kicks and strikes.

"Even if I know I should be careful of the abdominal muscles," she told Booth, "I forget that the opposing muscles aren't up to standard either. Now I'll have to sit through this dinner, wearing nylons and high heels and talking with non-scientific rich people, when I'd rather just stay here. Where I can wear yoga pants and lie on the floor… and take you up on your offer of a massage."

"I'm sorry, Bones. But the offer still stands."

"Thanks." She sighed, rolling up the yoga mat. "It's my own fault, after all." The two of them headed to her bedroom to change.

"You're not walking so stiffly as yesterday."

"The stretching helps."

He put his hand on her lower back and said softly, "I hate to see you in pain."

She stopped in the doorway. "It's nothing compared to what I experienced with a gunshot wound. But I don't like having my motion restricted."

"It _is _too bad." Now his eyes gleamed. "Because I was really looking forward to dancing with you tonight. To show everyone that I'm going out with the smartest and most beautiful woman in the room."

She put her palm alongside his cheek. "You always know how to make me smile. Now, are you going to shave before this banquet?" She glanced down at his t-shirt and jeans. "You look like a furniture mover."

While he was in the bathroom, they talked through the open door. Razor in hand, Booth asked, a little too hopefully, "You need any help getting dressed?"

"No. Just with the zipper. Or the choice of outfit." She brought a black dress out of her closet, and he seemed to recognize it right away.

"That's the one you wore to that Egyptian exhibit. With—what's his name—the brothers, Anok and Meti?"

"Yes." She tried not to act surprised that he'd gotten the names right. "Angela claims you can't re-wear things to important occasions, except maybe for funerals. And that rule might not apply to 'the little black dress.' But if some of the same people attend this dinner as attended the exhibit opening…" Booth raised his eyebrows. "I don't understand it either." Brennan draped the dress on the bed. "I like this one, but I might not have bought it without Angela's insistence. It's… a little low cut."

There was Booth's smirk again. "I noticed."


	41. Banquet

**AN: **Sorry this is late. I'm on vacation, staying with family and having a great time. It means that, at the moment, I have more to live for than fandom and writing. :)

**Part 41**

Booth was not the only male to appreciate the fit of Brennan's dress.

One of the guests, she realized, spent most of the dinner staring at her breasts. Booth had noticed the man's observation, and it made him angry. But this, Brennan saw, wasn't the only reason.

Booth sat next to her at the circular banquet table. On her other side was a retired couple, then a woman from the Jeffersonian's conservation biology department. Two other donors sat next to Booth, while the man who kept staring at Brennan's chest was directly across from her.

For the first part of the evening, she and her lab team had mingled with the crowd. They'd shaken hands, nibbled appetizers, and listened to speakers thank and flatter the assembled donors, while simultaneously asking for more funds. Then they'd dispersed to separate tables. Angela and Hodgins sat at one nearby, while Cam was across the room with some department heads and VIPs.

Now the meal was in full swing. Conversation and clinking tableware nearly drowned out the string quartet playing in one corner of the spacious banquet hall.

The retired man and woman on Brennan's left, Bob and Eileen, were clearly enjoying their wine. They became more garrulous as the meal went on, so it was difficult for anyone else to direct the discussion. The couple seemed to miss all of the usual social cues about which topics were preferred dinner conversation.

But the other guests looked interested when Eileen gushed, "I've read all of your novels! They have everything: crime, drama, romance… But I haven't heard any news about another one." She tried to press Brennan for insider information about the next book, or for which plot events were based on real life.

"Yes, tell us!" The man leaned toward Brennan conspiratorially. (He had looked at her breasts too, but not for as long as the younger man.) "I bet you have some stories, huh? Fiction writing and crime fighting…! Tell us something the media didn't, about what's-her-name, that girl who was kidnapped, and how you rescued her."

Brennan rearranged the napkin in her lap and caught Booth's glance over the top of his glass. "There's really not much to tell." She tried to give a polite but spartan answer, then to change the subject. But they wouldn't be deterred.

"Were you really all by yourself?" Eileen asked. "What happened? This kidnapper—murderer—he shot at you?"

All around the table, eyes gleamed avidly.

"Well, I already told you how Dr. Hodgins found the location..." (From the nearby table, Brennan had overheard him regaling people with that tale.) Now, because it would have been rude to refuse, she told a fact-based account.

Under the table, Booth patted her knee. He probably didn't like this any more than she did. But she caught a bit of ironic humor in his gaze, that seemed to say, 'They're practically drooling over you, Bones.'

Not over me, she corrected. They just want another mystery-adventure novel. It's not real to them.

And the way people looked at her, you would have thought she was telling a sensational, heroic tale.

"So," she finished, "I sat with Ingrid until the team arrived."

The man across the table was _still _staring at her chest, while Eileen sputtered, "But, but… weren't you in pain? And wasn't that man… he was dead and bleeding all over the barn floor?"

"Technically, no, because brain function ceases and the heart stops pumping blood."

Booth caught her eye again, then interrupted with a question for the other scientist. Brennan had only spoken to her briefly at another museum function, and was glad to have this chance to steer the talk away from events in the barn.

The researcher, Jane Swanson, worked at the conservation biology institute. "I'm currently involved in a study of Maryland blue crabs," she said. "Everyone usually thinks of them as a good thing to eat in summer along the mid-Atlantic coast, but they're also an integral part of the Chesapeake Bay's ecosystem."

Now that she wasn't the center of attention, Brennan took the opportunity to eat a few bites. A delicious salmon and vegetable dish had been served, but she couldn't fully enjoy it. Rich food was sometimes hard to digest, and right now the healed injury felt like a cord tied around her waist.

Dr. Swanson continued to describe her project, but before long, the donors jumped in with more non-scientific questions.

The man sitting across from her, Bill Gerard, was about Booth's age. Not as inebriated as some other guests, he made a courteous comment about the crab research, then turned to Brennan. (He managed to look at her face while he spoke, and not down her dress.)

"I have to agree," he nodded to the retired couple, "I'm not as fascinated by pure science as I am with your role in crime-solving and partnering with the FBI."

Brennan caught Dr. Swanson frowning; she too seemed frustrated by the change in topic, but they were all under strict orders to _keep the donors happy_.

"Agent Booth," Gerard continued, "what was this like from your perspective? I don't mean to be insensitive, but having your partner get shot…"

A muscle twitched in Booth's jaw, but that was the only sign of his reaction. Brennan thought he would've punched Gerard if he could, and not just because he kept ogling her breasts. Earlier conversation had revealed that he was a successful businessman, who had already started from a privileged upbringing. Booth would need much more garish socks and ties to deal with the aggravation people like this caused him. Especially when he'd just been unfairly passed over for a promotion.

"Yeah, son, where were you, anyway?" the retired man asked. "FBI, supposed to have a finger in every pie. But none of those newspaper articles would tell us much about it."

Brennan saw Booth hide his anger and flash one of his best smiles. "There's a good reason the media didn't know much about it. Because a lot of that information? It's classified."

Instead of quelling further questions, however, this seemed to inspire them. "Which part?" another donor asked. "You mean you were on some secret mission at the time?"

"Yes, yes," Bill piped up. "This must be a case of, he could tell us but then he'd have to kill us."

Attempts to divert the conversation with humor should have worked. But Gerard was acting as though he—or Booth—had something to prove. "No, really," he said over the laughter. "What was so important that it kept you away from your partner when she was in the line of fire?"

Booth's eyes darkened, and now Brennan had had enough too. "He was off the clock," she said sharply, "and didn't know I was in danger. If he had known, he would've been there. Beyond that, it's none of your business."

There was an awkward silence. Booth met her eyes again, and while some anger remained, she saw gratitude as well. He seemed to say, 'You tell him, Bones. I can stand up for myself, you know. But thank you.'


	42. Dancing

**AN: **Well, I'm back from vacation, and couldn't decide if I should skip this week and just get more prepared for next time. But I do have a short chapter ready, so why not?

Since I wish we could have seen B&B dancing (or anything else!) in Night at the Bones Museum, I've brought back those same outfits for this little scene.

**Part 42  
**

After dinner, Booth and Brennan slipped away from the table. They joined the handful of guests making their way to the large clear space at one end of the room.

"Do they always have dancing at these things?" Booth asked.

"Not every time, no. There are usually too many speeches."

As they walked past the string quartet, he glanced around uneasily. "This is a little more upscale than I'm used to. They're going to play a waltz or something and I'm going to look like an idiot."

"You could never look like an idiot."

They had paused by tall windows overlooking the museum grounds. Smiling, he leaned close. "I just wanted to have you to myself for a little while." His hand touched her side. "You sure you're not too tired?"

Her eyes flicked appreciatively over his suit and black bow tie. "Not for you I'm not."

Now, after some tuning and shuffling of music, the quartet began a stately tune. An older couple stepped onto the dance floor first, and Booth eyed their footwork, shooting Brennan a dubious glance.

"I don't know the steps either," she said. "Just move to the music. But don't step on my feet."

She settled her hand on his shoulder, while his slid to her waist. His grip tightened for a moment, over the subtle leaf pattern of her dress. They accustomed themselves to the tune, swaying and stepping in an unpremeditated way.

Then Booth nodded at the other dancers, and the crystal chandeliers. "I guess it's not like dancing at your high school reunion, huh?"

She smiled, half joking and half disappointed. "No electric slide." But, thinking back on that time period, she couldn't help feeling guilty.

Booth noticed, of course. "What is it, Bones?"

"That dance… You said, neither of us was ready to walk through that door, to have a relationship. But you were being too nice to me. _I'm_ the one who wasn't ready. I wanted to be, Booth. I wanted to accept what you offered. I _should _have. But…

"It's okay, Bones. Water under the bridge."

She shook her head, digging her fingers into his shoulder. He was being too nice again. "I knew how I felt. But I didn't trust it." She sighed. "We could have saved a lot of time."

"I guess we could have. But we're making up for it now, right?" He took a step forward, pulling her hips nearer to his.

She returned his smile, and closed the rest of the distance between them, putting her arms around his neck.

-.-.-.-.

After the first couple dances, Brennan excused herself to use the ladies' room. When she returned, she didn't see Booth. Instead, Bill Gerard hovered at the edge of the dance floor. He veered over and took her elbow. "Would you care to dance?" Even now, his eyes flickered down over her dress, rather than remaining on her face.

Jerking her arm out of his grasp, Brennan opened her mouth to refuse.

Booth stepped between them, seemingly out of nowhere.

"The lady is already spoken for." His voice was soft, dangerous. And, Brennan heard Angela's voice say, sexy as hell.

He used his greater height and strength of presence to stare Gerard down. The man tried to laugh it off at first, like he didn't believe Booth was serious. But he clearly was.

His posture, his bright, fierce eyes—they somehow conveyed just what Booth thought of the other man. How much he disapproved of the way Gerard had been looking at Brennan all evening. How he'd crossed the line, and that now he'd better respect her, as well as Booth's prior claim on her.

For a moment, Gerard considered a challenge. Brennan saw it in the set of his shoulders and the muscles of his face. But his opponent was obviously superior. As Booth stood there in silent intimidation, Gerard wilted. His shoulders slumped and he turned away, mumbling something about getting another drink.

Booth's eyes glittered as his attention returned to her. Wordlessly, he offered his arm. She took it, letting him guide her back to the dance floor.


	43. Dancing, part 2

**AN: **Maybe Bill Gerard is an unrealistic, over-the-top character. But I can't resist telling you that I took his last name from someone who goes to my gym and is extremely annoying, not to mention inappropriate. He's about 50 but seems very interested in the 20-year-old girls who work at the front desk. (And possibly me, even though I'm not 20.) Well, I have my silent revenge by naming the character after him.

Also, I enjoyed the reviews saying, 'Mm, territorial Booth is a turn on.' Apparently Brennan agrees with you. :D

**Part 43  
**

Bones seemed especially keen on their dancing after his show of angry protectiveness.

The quartet now played a slow and somber piece. Booth knew it wasn't designed for sexy dancing, but his partner managed it anyway. They were standing as close as possible; her hips swayed against his, and he could swear her skin felt hotter than before. There where her hand clasped his, and through the soft back of the dress where he held her.

But maybe it wasn't what her body was doing, and more the way she looked at him. Her cheeks seemed flushed, while her gaze was soft and luminous, like she only had eyes for him.

Still, it had been a long day, and he could tell by the less-fluid way she moved that her muscles were stiff or sore. I should get her home, he thought, and give her a Seeley-Booth-magic-fingers massage.

He glanced up to see that Angela and Hodgins had taken to the dance floor. Angela flashed them a thumbs up, and her expression seemed to say, 'You two look _really _good together.' Several other couples moved to the music, but most of the guests had stayed at their tables, chatting or motioning at waiters to refill their wine glasses.

Partway through the song, Bones murmured, "I enjoyed that display of alpha male posturing." Her fingers played lazily with the lapel of his jacket.

"You did, huh?"

"I might even have liked to see you beat him up. I wanted to hit him, myself."

"He had a lot of balls, asking you to dance."

"I'm sure he only has two. But you made him retreat with his tail between his legs. Metaphorically." Her smile was full of mischief. But it seemed she wasn't finished analyzing the situation. "Since you don't have your gun to threaten him with, and you couldn't challenge him to a physical altercation at an event like this, you did the next best thing. Probably the better choice, because it was quiet and nonviolent. But very effective." She looked at him with smoky eyes, and he wanted to kiss her right here in front of all these stuffy trustees.

Instead he smiled, and took the opportunity to admire the rest of her. Because that dress was a work of art. Its wide-set straps wrapped gracefully over her shoulders, while the bodice was crafted to look almost see-through, decorated with a scattering of black leaves.

Bones, seeing his blatant observation, cried, "Booth! You're as bad as everyone else." But she was smiling while she said it. Then, "I shouldn't have worn this dress. All the men just stared at my breasts." Before he could get himself in trouble with a comment, she went on. "And all the guests were far too interested in my fiction writing or my FBI-related activities, and not my work in the lab. It's just as well we're not going to be solving murders out in the field anymore. Maybe I need to rededicate myself to the pure science…"

She got a far-away look in her eyes. While he could enjoy watching her in passionate-scholar mode, right now, dancing hand in hand with him, wasn't one of those times. He gave her a little squeeze as a reminder. "Later, Bones, okay?"

-.-.-.-.

As the quartet started a final song and dancers made their way back to the banquet tables, Booth pulled Brennan behind a tall potted plant.

"Let's get out of here."

"What? We're supposed to stay so we can keep talking with donors over coffee and dessert." But her eyes told him she was very tempted by the idea of escape.

"We can say that you're tired, which is true. You're still recuperating, and you did strain those lower back muscles."

She sighed, shifting experimentally, and didn't deny it.

"I'll go make excuses to our table," Booth said. "You circle around back and meet me by the coat check." He waited for her to nod agreement, and they couldn't help grinning at each other, as though this were an undercover mission.

When they rendezvoused in the hallway outside, Booth was still smiling. "What did you say to them?" she asked. "If you reminded them how I got shot less than two months ago, they're going to be even more manic about the perceived excitement of crime solving, rather than the real excitement of scientific inquiry."

As they hurried down the corridor clutching their coats, Booth maintained his easygoing smile. "Whatever you say, Bones."

She frowned and started to complain. But then, she realized, she really didn't care what he'd said to the donors. And she enjoyed the feeling of breaking the rules together.

Now she put her hand on his arm. "I want to stop by my office before we go home, to get some files. And a jacket that I left there."

It was a long walk, from the banquet hall to the other end of the museum. They slowed to a leisurely pace, and Booth tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.

-.-.-.-.

**AN: **I'm still playing catch-up with this story. But hopefully, breaking the chapter here, I'll be more prepared for next time.


	44. No mistletoe required

**AN: **I can't resist another anthropology-nerd section here at the beginning.

**Part 44  
**

When they walked past the roped-off entrance to upcoming exhibits, Brennan started musing about the current project. Colleagues had asked her to review academic papers about the Neanderthal genome, and to consult about portions of the exhibit.

"I've always wanted to study genetics in more detail. And for a project of this magnitude…" Booth smiled at the way her eyes lit up. "Oh, did you know" She launched into a new topic, and he tried to focus on what she was saying, he really did. How the geneticists were taking very old DNA from bones, and how they had to purify it, after contamination with bacteria and fungi…

But he'd had some good wine at dinner, and then danced with his beautiful partner, and the science slid right past him.

Now Bones was talking about the results of that study, and genes that modern people shared with Neanderthals. "The interbreeding probably took place at least 45,000 years ago, but of course that's an estimate. So that today, as we're telling visitors to the exhibit, any person whose ancestral group developed outside of Africa might very well have some Neanderthal DNA in their genome—between one and four percent."

"Uh-huh," Booth said. But _this _wasn't going over his head. This was about sex. "So…" He nudged her. "Would you still sleep with me if I was a Neanderthal?"

That took her by surprise, and she laughed. But she didn't ask if he was suggesting a scientific impossibility, like time travel. Instead, she eyed him speculatively.

"Well, you do have substantial muscle development and a robust skeletal system, compared to the average human male. In fact, some of your bone structure…" She reached up to trace his brow. "It's slightly reminiscent of the supra-orbital ridges that characterize Neanderthals."

"Hey!" He pulled away with mock indignation.

"It's not an insult. I know some people who would take it as a compliment."

He shook his head, smiling back. "I'm sure you do." She had been complimenting him, in her own bizarre way. And teasing at the same time.

A few steps later he snorted and said, "That Gerard guy was acting like a real caveman. A _stereotypical _caveman." He clarified, so she wouldn't scold him.

"I think we lost him as a donor, after I snapped at him and you intimidated him."

"Well. The guy had it coming."

"Yes, he did. And even if Cam or one of the directors yells at me for what I said to him, or for leaving early… It was worth it."

-.-.-.-.

Rather than grabbing her stuff and going, Bones got stuck at her desk. She just had to check email, and then of course, found a message to distract her, from a colleague overseas. Booth figured he'd let her read it and reply, unless it was going to take an hour. To kill time, he started to wander the quiet lab.

He'd been looking at all the shiny surfaces for about five minutes, when the main doors opened. Caroline swept in, looking harried.

"Booth, what in God's name are you doing here at this hour? I just called Dr. Saroyan, and told her to contact whichever intern is on duty right now. This—" she held up a document in her hand, "is an order of exhumation for Kendra Edwards." She paused for breath, having reached Booth at the edge of the forensic platform. He recognized the name: a murder victim from several years ago.

"It's the killer's appeal," Caroline grumbled, "so his lawyer wants _all _the evidence re-examined, and got some judge to sign off on it. I'm telling you, this better not turn out to be the Howard Epps debacle all over again. But at least the man's not on Death Row, so we're not working under a ticking clock. Still, we want to give this a pretty high priority. So, we'll get the poor woman's body in here tonight, but I won't ask all the eggheads to stay into the wee hours examining it." She had pulled out her phone, presumably to check for messages, and frowned at it.

When she glanced up, she seemed to notice Booth's tux for the first time. "You just came from that donor gala thing?"

"Yeah. I'm waiting for Bones." He gestured at her office.

Caroline eyed him appreciatively. "That is a _fine _looking suit. I'm glad I have your pretty face to look at, even if I did have to drag my sorry self out of bed on this Friday evening."

She might have complained more, but Bones came out of her office carrying some files. They both listened to Caroline describe the work that needed to be done with the remains. She was preoccupied with the case, and seemed to assume that the two of them would jump right on it.

Brennan met Booth's eyes, and he responded for both of them. "Caroline, hold on a second." He reached out, and Bones stepped under his arm. "We're not working murders anymore."

Saying that… it was strangely freeing. Bones must've felt it, too. The faint trace of a smile played around her mouth, that seemed to say, _I'm not staying late at the lab tonight. I'm going home with you._

Caroline looked from one to the other. "I know your medical leave's not officially over," she told Brennan, "but are you saying… that you two are finished working together?"

"Yeah," Booth said, "I think we are. Not going into the field, not on murder cases." He glanced at Bones. "Not after what happened."

Caroline's eyes narrowed. She seemed to note how Booth stood with his arm around Brennan's shoulders, and the easy, familiar way Bones was leaning into him.

"Let me get this straight," she said. "You two finally…" Caroline made a vague swirling gesture with her hand. Booth meant to keep his face expressionless, but he must not have succeeded. A moment later the lawyer found her voice again. "You two finally decided to consummate in person what you've been doing with your eyes for years?"

Brennan didn't get it right away. "Sex, Bones," Booth muttered. "Not so literal."

"Oh, for crying out loud!" Now Caroline looked downright disappointed. "I go on vacation for two weeks, then spend another week running around like a madwoman to catch up… And I _miss _something like this?"

Bones glanced at Booth and murmured, "Does she mean she wanted to watch?"

He coughed, to smother laughter.

Caroline put her hands on her hips, but she was smiling, too. "Am I really the last to know about you two? Don't this just beat all."

"Sorry, Caroline." Booth cleared his throat, then gestured at the legal document she was holding. "Cam and the interns can have this one. We," he gave Bones a squeeze, "are going home."

Caroline's smile drooped down into a pout. "But who's going to help me put all the killers and sociopaths behind bars, now?"

He didn't know how to answer that, but Bones stepped in. "Booth, wait. This is an important case. We shouldn't leave the bone work solely for Mr. Edison. He's very talented, but I should be here to make sure there aren't any mistakes."

"Not to_night_," he protested. She wasn't convinced, looking toward the doorway as if anticipating the human remains. "It's late," he said, "and there's no hard deadline. You need a good night's sleep. Come back tomorrow, if you have to, to check the kid's work."

"I suppose you're right." She sighed. "Yes. Let's go home."

"All right," Caroline said reproachfully. "I'll just stay here all by my lonesome, waiting for a dead body to arrive…"

Booth tucked his coat, and Brennan's file folders, under his arm. "Goodnight, Caroline."

He could feel her watching them as they walked toward the sliding glass doors. Apparently, Bones could too. She stopped in the doorway, then glanced up and whispered, "Booth. Pretend we're under mistletoe."

"What?" He felt his mouth turning up at her naughty expression.

"Mistletoe." She tipped her head at Caroline. "I'd like to kiss you now. For no reason."

His smile got wider. "I can live with that."

They leaned into each other, and he captured her lips. She tugged at his lapels, and this time there was no "colleagues, siblings or French people" about it. Bones pressed herself—that magnificent dress—against his chest, while her tongue alternately teased and battled with his own.

Then she let go of his jacket to wrap her arms around him. Her lips moved hungrily against his, and her hands slid lower and lower on his back, until she was nearly—she _was_—grabbing his ass. In full view of Caroline.

He held onto her hips as hard as he dared, squeezing the firm roundness, and felt her hum against his mouth. When he drew back, panting a little, Bones laughed from sheer high spirits. Then she took his hand and pulled him out the door.

Booth had time for a glance over his shoulder. Caroline stood by the forensic platform, one eyebrow raised in a dazed fashion, while she slowly fanned herself with the legal paper.


	45. Lab weekend

**AN: **Thank you, jsq, for the beta read last week, as well as this week.

**Part 45**

Booth spent the weekend with Parker, while Brennan spent it at the lab. He tried not to let her absence bother him, but he couldn't help it. Especially when she made excuses to stay at work, rather than doing something with them. He and Parker had begged her to go to lunch, or come back to her apartment to swim. "I'd like to," she'd said, "but it's crucial that we don't miss anything in our analysis of this exhumation." Therefore, she had to supervise the interns. It wasn't just supervise, however. Bones did most of the work herself, getting lost, as she often did, in the minutiae of the human body.

When she did take a break, she spent it napping on her office couch. This didn't help Booth's mood, since it was clear she hadn't regained all her strength, and would probably be better off at home.

Still, the weekend passed quickly. Now it was Sunday night; Booth had just returned Parker to Rebecca, and went to fetch Bones from the Jeffersonian.

Whatever happened, he thought as he drove, to the sexy stay-at-home vacation she'd alluded to? It was supposed to be before she resumed full-time work, and before he figured out what the hell to do with his life and career. But at this rate, they'd never take one.

That was the other reason he was irritated. Hadn't they given up serious crime fighting? Hadn't they agreed on that? But here was Bones, already knee-deep in corpses.

And partnering with someone else. As he walked into the lab, he heard Agent Perrota's voice. She'd come to get a report on the lab team's findings, and now Bones was asking if they needed her for anything else. Her scientific insights might be useful, she pointed out, for whatever the next step was, whether interviewing witnesses, tracking down old or new leads for the appeal trial.

Booth got to the steps of the platform as Perrota said, "No, thank you, Dr. Brennan." She tucked the lab file under her arm. "Your explanation was very thorough. I'll call if I have further questions." She turned to leave, almost bumping into Booth. They greeted each other a bit stiffly, before going their separate ways.

Brennan looked up from the body laid out on the table. "Is it time to go already?"

"It's good to see you too, Bones." That sounded more acerbic than he'd intended.

She didn't flinch, but peeled off her gloves with alacrity. "How was your afternoon with Parker?"

"Fine. Good. We played football at the park."

Bones nodded to Clark Edison and another intern, who started wheeling the body off to wherever they were kept overnight.

"So, what should we do for dinner?" she asked. "I picked up a few things yesterday, but I'm not sure you'd like them."

He shrugged. "Whatever's fine."

This time she gave him a long look. "Booth. Tell me what's going on."

He exhaled loudly, then glanced around to see that the interns were out of earshot. "I thought we agreed," he said, stepping close to her, "that we're not working murders anymore. Not going out in the field. And yet here you are, _offering _to go with Perrota."

"For the investigation and appeal? That's not the same. The killer's already behind bars."

"I know, but it's still a murder. It could still—" He didn't list it for her. Could still be dangerous. Could still get criminals or accomplices mad at you. And going out in the field, even just for interviews? He and Agent Luckett knew how that could turn out.

"Booth, it would be irresponsible of me to refuse work on something like this. It would be a waste of my skills."

"Yeah, I've always loved your modesty, Bones." Nope, that was too harsh a tone. She stood very straight, eyes flashing anger at him.

"Sarcasm does not play well in the workplace. You're supposed to know that."

"Well, we're not _working _together anymore, are we?" He let out a frustrated sigh. "Look, we agreed on this, right? We don't want to risk the other person's safety, working crimes out in the field—"

"I'm not _in _the field!"

"But you were _going _to be, if Perrota wanted you. And now—"

"I can't help it if my talents are unique, Booth. Just because you're replaceable and I'm not…" He felt his muscles tighten like he'd been smacked. Seeing that, she seemed to think better of it. "No, I'm sorry. I mean, there are a lot of FBI agents in D.C., but only one forensic anthropologist. As good as you are, Hacker could replace you, if he had to. Whereas I…" She looked apologetic, asking him not to be irrational when faced with facts.

"Fine," he said flatly. "Why don't we just…"

"Trouble in paradise?" Booth whirled around, hand on his gun. He'd heard the ping of an access card, but this person had still snuck up on him.

"Max."

"Dad, what are you doing here?"

Max raised his hands, having seen Booth's automatic grab for his weapon. Then he edged around so he could kiss Brennan on the forehead. "Hi, honey. I work here, remember? Have to get ready for the after-school program tomorrow." He glanced at Booth. "Your kid still signed up?"

Now he felt foolish for being startled. "Yeah, Parker's signed up. It's all he could talk about this weekend."

"Good. It's going to be some fun stuff." Then he shot Booth a penetrating glance. "What's this I hear about you quitting your job?"

His eyes went to Brennan's. She shook her head, looking surprised. Max hadn't gotten it from her.

"Where do you hear this stuff, Max?"

"I have my connections."

Booth snorted. The old man wasn't getting any information from him. "Don't you have work to do? Come on, Bones." He reached out to steer her away. She let him do it, glancing back at her father.

"For the record, I'm fine with you quitting. Anything that keeps Tempe away from crooks and kidnappers is good in my book."

"Dad, I can take care of myself. And technically, _you're _one of those crooks."

"Oh, you wound me." But he smiled tolerantly. "Lunch soon, baby?"

Back in her office, Bones organized some papers on her desk, then shut off her computer. Booth stood by, holding her coat.

She looked up and asked, "You're not going to quit, are you?"

"No, of course not. But…"

"But?"

"Hacker." He made it sound like a four-letter word. "He sent me a message on Saturday—what kind of boss does that on Saturday?—saying that he set up a meeting tomorrow, but he didn't tell me what it was about. Just that it's me, him, and a couple directors from Quantico."

"That could be good news, right? They might be offering you a position there."

"Yeah. Or some kind of reprimand before firing me. Or transferring me out of D.C."

"That doesn't seem likely." Booth held her coat so she could slip into it.

"But… Has this been worrying you all weekend?" His expression must have given him away. "Why not just ask Andrew what it's about?"

"Because that's not how it works, Bones."

She locked her office door, and they walked out together.

"That doesn't make any sense."

-.-.-.-.

They stayed at his place that night.

Brennan needed her sleep after days of lab work, and if she wanted to hit the gym the next morning, to complete the workout her physical therapist had given her.

Booth thought she'd fallen right asleep, but then her hand found his shoulder under the covers. "Booth… Are you still mad?"

"Hm?" he said sleepily, then rolled over to face her. "No, I just… I'm not sure where I am anymore, you know? And I didn't mean to yell at you today."

"I didn't either. I was… I'd be remiss if I wasn't willing to help the investigation. But I don't relish the thought of working with Agent Perrota."

"Good. I don't think she's your type."

"What? You mean romantically?"

Booth chuckled at his own joke. Bones poked him, but then decided to play along. "She's not nearly as attractive as you. And she's very short. But I think… she might wish she was in _my _position."

He stopped laughing, as Brennan curled closer against his side. He felt her sigh of contentment, and turned his face into her hair. Her breathing was already settling into sleep, and he tried not to be disappointed, when his mind had just flashed back to the night after the banquet.

They'd returned to her apartment, still high on their escape. He shut her bedroom door and cranked up the space heater. Laughing softly, Bones pulled off his jacket, tie and dress shirt. He peeled that gorgeous dress from her body, then joined her on the bed. Turning her on her stomach, he massaged her neck and shoulders. Then down her back, easing the sore muscles. Lower still, possessive now: his hands kneading her buttocks and thighs. Until she turned over, drinking him in with eyes the color of deep water, and pulled him down on top of her.


	46. The list

**AN: **Thanks to jsq for the advance reading!

**Part 46  
**

Booth met Cam for drinks the day after his meeting with Hacker.

Not one for wasting time, she took a sip of beer, set it down on the bar and fixed her eyes on him. "So, what is it? Good news or bad?"

He swirled his own beer around on his tongue before answering. "They offered me a job at Quantico."

"Hey, way to go. That's what you wanted, right?" He nodded, but it wasn't wholehearted. "You ready to go from cop to teacher?"

"It's not fifth grade, Camille."

"Yeah… So what is it?"

"We haven't figured out the specifics yet. It was like a list of possibilities. So that means more meetings to hash it out." Cam's mouth twitched at the distaste with which he said _meetings_. "I could start as a class supervisor, or field counselor for agents in training. Probably not a full-time instructor, I don't know if I'd like that." Now he smirked. "Before I got this offer, Bones was telling me what she thought I'd be good at. She said I wouldn't like a job like Hacker's. Too much administration and delegating tasks. And that I wouldn't like pure academics either, because I'm too_ active and vigorous_."

Cam raised an eyebrow. "That's what she said?"

"Yep." He slurped his beer, grinning.

"If you want me to praise your sexual prowess based on past experience, it's not going to happen."

Booth laughed, trying not to snort alcohol out his nose. That made Cam laugh, too.

When they'd recovered he said, "I _could _have the option to teach something. Classes dealing with ethics, interrogation, investigative techniques... the academy directors have their own ideas. But I'm pushing for the _action_-oriented ones." He winked. "Because classes are just part of the picture. There's firearms training, for one. New agents have to qualify with a handgun and shotgun, and be familiar with the carbine and submachine gun. Then there's operational skills—everything from tactical driving, self defense, to disarming and handcuffing people. I bet I could even take part in the case exercises if I wanted to. Like playing a bad guy in Hogan's Alley and getting into paintball shoot-outs with new recruits."

He gave Cam a roguish smile, and she narrowed her eyes. "No, I'm trying to picture you in front of a lecture hall, having to make lesson plans and grade papers."

Booth scoffed, then thought better of it. "You never know, I could turn into the Quantico equivalent of a squint in my old age."

"Old age?"

"I mean later. Down the road. A long way down the road."

Cam seemed to consider everything he'd said. "Well, that all sounds great." She studied him. "But something's holding you back."

He glanced at the TV screen flashing silently over the bar. "Bones and I agreed, we've had enough dealing with murder. But… it's hard to get used to. I mean, all those victims of crime aren't going to go away. Someone has to fight for them."

"Does it always have to be you? You just came from the Hoover building, right? We've got an entire FBI headquarters full of people to fight for them. And an academy of new agents to take over."

"That's basically what Bones said when I told her. Other people aren't as skilled as I am, she said, but that was the gist of it."

Cam looked amused. "I know that smile." She took another sip of beer, watching him. "Maybe you feel guilty about changing jobs. Maybe Brennan's turned your life upside down and you don't know where to stand. But… you're happy."

He looked over to see a half smile on her face. She seemed happy _for _him. Maybe a little bit envious, too.

"Yeah," he said, "you know what? I am." And Cam was right. Because ever since he'd met Bones, she'd turned him upside down and inside out. And he loved her for it.

"So, that answers my question. We're here for good news." Cam raised her glass, and Booth clinked his against it.

Someone asked the bartender to turn up the TV volume, and for a minute they listened to the ESPN commentators.

"God, who's going to tell Sweets?" Cam said. "I'm going to miss seeing you around the lab, but I'm sure you'll still drop by. But Sweets? You're like his big brother at the Bureau. This is going to break his heart."

Booth groaned. He hadn't even thought about Sweets.

"Besides," Cam said, "who's going to subdue him when he gets over-eager?"

He saw the teasing glint in her eye. "I'm sure you can handle the kid."

They fell into a comfortable silence, nursing their beers.

"I'm starving," Cam said. "Want to get a table and eat?"

They found a spot under a portrait of John Adams, and ordered spicy chicken wings and a big salad to share between them.

"Mm, these wings are unbelievable. Why haven't I had these before?" Cam took another napkin to wipe the grease off her hands. "I can feel the cholesterol depositing itself on my arterial walls as we speak."

"Nah," Booth said, "Change is good, right? Everybody's doing something new. You're finally having the delicious, unhealthy chicken wings. Angela and Hodgins, they're having a kid. Bones and I finally got together. You have Michelle, you're going out with Paul… Wait, you _are _still going out with Paul?"

"Yep," she said cheerfully, "trying to. Because once we admitted we're both workaholics—well. That's the first step in the program, right?"

Booth grunted and took another bite of meat, savoring the crispy outside and juicy inside. "It's just strange," he reflected, "not working with Bones anymore. Parts of it… I used to love it. We worked so well together."

"Like you don't now?" Her expression invited innuendo, but he didn't take the bait.

"I think she was… we were afraid to give it up. The foundation that we had."

"Well..." Cam speared some salad greens and waved them around on her fork. "It's a big deal, what you've done already. I mean, Dr. Brennan gets shot, you finally reveal your feelings and basically move in together… You both change your life to protect what you have. What you finally _realized _you have."

Booth nodded, taking another chicken wing.

Cam munched her salad, giving him the eagle eye. "You know why it didn't work out between us, the second time?"

_Because I'd already fallen for Bones? _his brain supplied.

"At least, part of the reason: we were working together. Not like you and Brennan were, but still. And the person you're with, the person you love? They're supposed to be your refuge, you know? The one you come home to. Not the one you have to stand over dead bodies with and run down armed gunmen with. The two of you… you earned each other's trust with that partnership. But you don't need that to _keep _it."

Booth raised his water glass, to cool some of the spices on his tongue. "Yeah. We finally figured that out. But thanks, Cam."

She gave him a little salute with her own glass, then said, "I like not having to talk work with Paul. Or if we do, it's _his _job, which is about new life, not murder and autopsies. Although, it's better to avoid messy work topics altogether. No more latex gloves and bodily fluids once we're off the clock. We can just talk about food or family or sports, or the new car Paul's thinking about buying. Hey." That seemed to remind her. "You really gonna drive all that way to a new job? What is it, at least forty-five minutes to Quantico?"

"Something like that. The distance could be a problem, yeah. But…" Booth started to smile. "Bones spent most of the day doing research for me." He reached inside his jacket, bringing out some pages that he unfolded next to the salad. "Highway maps and driving times, public transportation schedules… even apartment listings for places halfway between here and there."

"Huh." Cam glanced over the papers. "Impressive. But it sounds like she's trying to push you into this. To keep you safe on a military base and not out on the streets?"

"Maybe." Booth shrugged. "But Bones thinks of it as collecting data. She wanted to make sure I _had all the facts I needed to make an informed decision_."

"That sounds like Brennan." Cam lifted the top few pages, then tilted her head curiously at the last one. Booth's first instinct was to snatch it back. But he reconsidered, and let her take it.

"This…" Her eyes scanned down the page. "It's a numbered list of all the people… all the criminals you two put in jail. Or… killed."

Booth nodded, not meeting her gaze. "When I first met Bones… I told her how I took a lot of lives as a sniper. And I wanted to put at least that many murderers behind bars. She said…" The memory flickered in his brain: Brennan, squinting in the sunlight, while the wind pushed a strand of hair into her eyes. "She said she wanted to help with that."

He couldn't tell if Cam was amused or touched. "This is a pretty long list. So… she wanted to show you proof, that you met your goal? Or exceeded it, probably."

Booth nodded again. Now he was seeing Bones, when she'd given it to him earlier that day. How long had it taken her? She'd compiled all their cases and typed up the names. As an objective measure, a way to look at their accomplishments and the time they'd put in.

It was classic Bones. Practical. Literal. And lovable.

They'd stood by her desk while he looked at the names. Seeing some of them—like Howard Epps—Booth frowned.

"Does he count, Bones? He… played us. From behind bars."

"He was already in jail, yes. But his death ended those games. It guaranteed he wouldn't hurt anyone else." Booth wished he could have said that with as much equanimity.

"And we—you," he told her, "gave those victims a voice."

Then he saw the end of the list. Warren Dawes. The man who'd abducted teenage girls and shot Bones for trying to stop him.

Booth poked a questioning finger at the name, unable to voice what he was feeling.

"He wasn't one you arrested, no." Bones looked at him with an unruffled blue gaze. "I killed him and you weren't there. But it was still our case, Booth."

She put her hand over his, where he held the paper. "Ours," she repeated softly. "But we don't need—we don't want—_this _to be ours anymore. Not when…" She caught his eye, and he saw a gleam of promise there. "Not when we have a lot of other things to do with our time. Right?"

She _was _right. He'd put down the list. Then he'd taken her in his arms…

"Seeley. Whatever you're daydreaming out, it looks pretty heavy." Booth blinked, seeing Cam's wry expression across the table.

"Yeah." He smiled sheepishly. "Sorry."

"So." Cam nodded at a waiter, who veered over to refill her water glass. Then she tapped the page of apartments for rent. "Is Brennan gonna move in with you, if you get a new place?"

His smile felt more like a grimace. "One step at a time, okay? I told you, we still have a lot of things to figure out."

Cam held up her hands in surrender, but when she continued, her voice was serious. "I can see this list means a lot to you. And I'm glad, Seeley. The two of you… _get _each other, in a way no one else does. Which is just as well, because you can both be pretty insufferable at times." Before Booth could think of a comeback, Cam was glancing at her watch. "Well, we should probably head home. Get you back to your logical, list-making lady. Get me back to Michelle… unless she's run up the phone bill, which she _better _not have, because I was hoping for a late night call with Paul…"

They paid the tab, pulled on their coats and were walking out when Booth decided to hassle her about that.

"Just how late of a phone call are we talking here?" He lowered his voice. "You like the occasional round of phone sex, Camille? With an OB-GYN—I bet he knows some pretty big words. He can be _really _specific, huh?"

Cam made as if to shove him out the door in front of her. "You don't know what you're talking about." But she wore a big, satisfied grin.

-.-.-.-.

**Long author's note: **I am experiencing some writer angst, though I don't know if anyone can help with that. Perhaps I should have ended this saga many chapters ago, and started something else that would have more urgency. I didn't plan on this career decision part lasting so long, and lack of detailed planning makes me feel like a mediocre writer (even if the write-as-you-go procedure is common for fanfic).

However, in defense of less-detailed planning, I submit this quote. E.L. Doctorow once said that "writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can see only as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way." Anne Lamott cited this in _Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life, _and added, "You don't have to see where you're going, you don't have to see your destination or everything you will pass along the way. You just have to see two or three feet ahead of you."


	47. Caroline's proposal

**AN: **Thank you to jsq for the beta read, and to a couple sharp readers for suggesting what Caroline does here.

The other day I happened to watch the X-Files episode "Unruhe," and found what seemed like a perfect quote. It's probably easy to spot…

**Part 47**

"We've got a case."

Booth appeared in Brennan's office only a moment after she got there. She'd just completed another physical therapy workout, which she found satisfying but still left her a bit tender and over-stretched.

"Or rather…" Booth leaned against the door. "You and Agent Perrota have a case. I'm just going along for the ride."

He filled her in as they drove. "A dog walker found the body in an empty field at the edge of the suburbs. The local M.E. says the burial looks pretty old. Barely any flesh—just the way you like them."

"If it turns out to be murder, Agent Perrota will work the case?"

"Yep." Booth didn't look entirely happy about that. "She'll be in the field, you'll be in the lab, and I… I will be doing whatever project Hacker assigns me to." Then he shrugged. "We can consider this a dry run, for how things will work if I take a position at Quantico."

"I won't be tracking down suspects," Brennan pointed out, "but I still need to go see remains. But you… would you still accompany me, in the future? You're going to have other responsibilities. And someone else would conduct the actual investigation."

He sighed. "I know. But nothing's finalized yet. And I don't want to let you go alone."

Brennan started to say that she wouldn't _be _alone, surrounded by police officers and forensics techs. But, given what she and Booth had been through in the last few months, she decided against it.

An hour later, she was kneeling in the dirt under a sky that threatened rain, brushing soil away from the cranium. At first analysis, she'd found no sign of violence. And when she reported to Booth, _female, small stature, about seventy years old_, he'd grunted and said, "Grandma's not your usual target for murder." She'd told him that the grave had probably been shallow, and recent rains coupled with erosion had exposed the body.

Now Booth was talking with local police and helping maintain the perimeter, while Agent Perrota interviewed the person who'd found the remains. Other officers circled the scene, documenting it with photos or keeping back the small crowd assembled behind police tape.

Brennan couldn't have said how long she was examining the body, carefully freeing it from leaves and soil, when she heard Booth shout.

"Stop him!"

She leaped to her feet in time to see Booth dash around the group of onlookers. A police officer was a few steps behind, giving chase to someone fleeing back down the road.

Brennan had run a few steps in that direction before realizing what she was doing. She stopped near the police tape, heart pounding, trying to see over people's heads. Perrota was right next to her, gun drawn but angled at the ground.

"What happened?" Brennan demanded.

The crowd of onlookers shuffled nervously, while officers milled about. "No need to worry, people," one of them said. "Everything's under control."

"One of the locals." Perrota holstered her weapon. "Middle-aged guy in a baseball hat—acting all shifty. We were keeping an eye on him, but he must've realized it just as Booth went over to talk to him, and he bolted." Then she glanced sideways. "Are you all right, Dr. Brennan?"

"Yes, of course." She found she was holding one hand over her healed injury. It hurt a little, a line of heat deep in her muscles. Her body had acted without her permission, jumping up like that. But it was a reflex. Booth was her partner.

Now two policemen were wagering about the outcome of the chase. "Our boy's pretty fast. What about the Feds?"

"Perp won't get far, by the look of it."

And sure enough, past the crowd, Booth had just emerged around the corner of a gas station. He and the younger officer marched a nervous-looking man in front of them. They let him fetch up against the side of a police car, where they started firing questions.

Brennan felt the breath go out of her in a shaky sigh. As if Booth had some sixth sense, he looked over and found her gaze. He gave a reassuring nod before turning back to the suspect. Forcing a semblance of calm, Brennan smoothed dirt-covered hands over her field suit, and returned to the remains.

-.-.-.-.

Caroline demanded that they meet her at the diner for lunch. She was already there when they arrived, sitting by the window chewing resolutely through a sandwich.

Brennan paused by the entrance to shrug out of her coat, which was damp from the drizzling rain outside.

As soon as she and Booth had pulled out chairs and picked up menus, Caroline said through a mouthful, "You two wanna tell me exactly why you're not working together anymore?"

They looked at each other. "We're in a relationship now, Caroline," Booth reminded her.

"So, the FBI is separating you?"

"They thought about it. But we're making the decision ourselves."

"Didn't y'all just come from a crime scene?"

"Grave site," Brennan corrected. "So far, it's just an unsanctioned burial. Whether the remains are those of a victim has yet to be determined."

"Well, whatever it is, Agent Perrota's taking the case." Now Booth pulled off his coat, reaching into the pocket for his ringing cell phone. "See? She must've finished the initial interrogation." He put the phone to his ear.

A server came by to take their orders while he listened to Perrota's report. Brennan thought Caroline looked impatient, picking up stray pieces of lettuce and shoving them back into her sandwich.

"Okay, thanks for letting me know." Booth ended the call. "That guy who ran from the scene? He claims some couple paid him to bury their mother—who died of natural causes—when they couldn't afford a funeral home. He was pretty vague about them, just that their English wasn't very good and they were probably from 'some Asian country.' He also made it sound like the whole thing was their idea. _But_…" Brennan could tell that the intuitive wheels were turning in his head (or, as he claimed, his gut). "Even if he seemed to cooperate when we caught him, I was getting a sneaky vibe from the guy. We could be dealing with a swindler here…"

"Fine, fine," Caroline waved a hand. "You _sure _you're not working that case after all?"

"Not if it turns out to be murder." Brennan's voice sounded more distressed than she intended, and Booth turned to look at her.

Startled out of his criminal profiling mindset, his eyes went dark and gentle. Although she hadn't mentioned it, he seemed to know how anxious she had been, watching the chase.

After a moment Brennan tore her gaze away. "I should be able to discover cause of death once I get back to lab. And, to answer your question, Caroline, about our partnership… We want to protect each other. From serious bodily harm, or the psychological ramifications of pursuing murderers day in and day out."

Booth shifted in his seat. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and measured. "To pursue monsters, we must understand them. We must venture into their minds. But in doing so, we risk letting them venture into ours." Then he smiled dryly. "One of my Quantico professors said that. I never forgot it."

Caroline squeezed some ketchup onto her plate. "Stop it, cherie, you're ruining my French fries with your doom and gloom. Look, I can sympathize with the romance of all this. You two want to go off and make beautiful babies, fine. That's fantastic. But you're thinking of dissolving one of the most successful partnerships in FBI history! And what about your oddball little Jeffersonian clan? Dr. Saroyan, Hodgins, all the interns…"

Brennan accepted her bowl of soup from the waitress. "My relationship with them hasn't changed. We won't be solving murders with Booth, but we'll still be helping the FBI."

Caroline's gaze sharpened. "If you really want to help the FBI, I've got a proposition for you."

"Oh?" Booth asked.

"Teaching. The two of you, teaching some kind of partnership course at Quantico. To train agents how to work with squints or vice versa. All the stuff you had to figure out as you went along. All the stuff that makes you so damn good."

Booth turned to Brennan, his expression half smile, half frown. He didn't seem to be taking the idea seriously. "How do you know we could teach that to someone else?" he asked Caroline. "Maybe we're just special."

"If you can do it, you can teach it." She put her elbows on the table and leaned toward them. "Look, you have a great deal of knowledge and skills to pass along. Mundane things like coordinating between the Bureau and the science lab. But other things like how to understand each other's process. How to be efficient at solving crimes, not tangled up in theoretical or personal conflicts. Even…" She jabbed a French fry at them. "Offering some sort of sensitivity training. How to foster cooperation and all that feel-good nonsense. How to appreciate the other's expertise, not waste time arguing about evidence versus conjecture. How to make sure you're not all condescending to each other."

"She does have a point," Brennan said. "You were very condescending when we first met. Actually, Caroline was too. As I recall, you didn't want to remember my name."

"_I_ was condescending?" Booth cut in. "You told me I could benefit immensely from an association with someone like you."

"Well, that part was true, wasn't it?" She said it matter-of-factly. But as Booth was about to argue, something sparked in his eyes, and she knew his mind had gone straight to the bedroom. In fact, so had hers. She smiled, to show her approval.

Caroline was watching them, Brennan noted. The attorney had a sly, pleased look on her face, as though whatever they were doing satisfied her.

Brennan turned her attention back to the teaching proposal. Asking a few questions, she found that Caroline hadn't planned in a great amount of detail. "I'm the idea fairy," she declared. "Let Hacker or those Quantico types figure out the nitty gritty. I just wanted to know if you two were on board."

"We can't be on board something that doesn't exit."

"Bones." Booth caught her eye, his expression seeming to say, 'Give her the benefit of the doubt.'

She could see the speculative light gleaming in his eyes. And suddenly, it felt like the beginning of an undercover mission. Buoyant, uncertain, free. "You like this idea," she asked, "don't you?"

He lifted one shoulder. "I'm not sure how it'll fit with whatever else we'll be doing. But yeah. I think I like it."


	48. The bone room

**AN: **This update is late due to my Thanksgiving-weekend work schedule. Now I wonder if the characters are talking too much, but I'll just let them. Next time, Hank and Max might appear.

**Part 48  
**

It was mid afternoon when Hodgins came out of Angela's office with a goofy smile on his face. He knew they really weren't supposed to use lab equipment for do-it-yourself ultrasounds. But they just couldn't resist.

He was still staring down at the grainy black and white picture in his hand when he passed the open door of bone room. "Dr. Hodgins," Brennan's voice snapped out. "You said you'd have that particulate analysis over an hour ago."

Damn. He had said that. But those remains on the table had been buried some eight years ago; he figured an extra couple hours wouldn't hurt. Still, he knew better than to tell Dr. B that.

"Sorry. I'll get right on it. But look." He came up to her, grinning and holding out the ultrasound. She seemed impatient at first. But she met his eyes, and whatever she saw there made her expression change.

Smiling, she peeled off her gloves, and indulged him by studying the image in his hand. They debated for a few moments about what anatomical features they could or could not make out. Then Hodgins pocketed the picture, ready to get back to work. Brennan seemed reluctant to let him leave, however, glancing up like she had something to say, but staying quiet.

"So, uh…" He gestured at the bones on the table. "What killed her?"

Moving to one of the monitors, Brennan tapped a key to bring up a photo. "Once Ms. Wick cleaned the bones, we found this on the interior surface of the cranium." He saw a dark red stain against a yellow-white background. "Booth's suspect was telling the truth when he said natural causes. This woman probably died from an intracranial hemorrhage. We found no marks on the exterior of the skull, and Cam agrees it wasn't the result of foul play."

Hodgins nodded, watching her reach for another pair of gloves.

She was looking down at the bones when she asked, "What did you think of the donor banquet last week?"

He tried not to be surprised at the change in topic. "It was okay. Not as bad as I thought those things would be. Except that the guests were much too nosy about Angela and the baby. They wanted to talk about our personal lives more than science."

"I know! They were much more interested in crime-solving and novel-writing, and not the real work that we do here." She snapped her gloves on with extra force, then sighed. Tilting her head, she stared at the woman's remains, long enough that Hodgins thought she'd forgotten about him. Her fingertips traced one of the arm bones, and she said under her breath, "Could we be just as effective indirectly, teaching others?"

Was she waiting for an answer from the skeleton? He cleared his throat. "Teaching?"

Brennan looked up. Then she told him about lunch with Caroline the previous day, and the proposal she'd offered.

"Huh." Jack nodded. "Teaching FBI and scientists how to work together? I can see you and Booth doing that."

"It's a good idea. It will provide the next generation with valuable information. It will keep us both safe and together. But…"

"Will you still have time for other things? Identifying victims, or going on foreign digs?"

"I think so. Caroline's program will take several months to plan and implement, and even then…" She seemed to chew on her thoughts for a while, gazing at the bones.

Then Hodgins realized she was holding one hand over her side, where she'd been shot. "Uh, Dr. B? You okay?"

"I—" She glanced down, sounding annoyed. "It doesn't actually hurt. Or only rarely. But I just… keep feeling it." Now skepticism weighed down her voice. "Booth has this theory. He claims the lingering pain is psychosomatic. That it'll get better when he, or both of us, leave the field for good, in favor of safer jobs."

"Sounds like something Sweets would say. But Caroline's plan would be that safer job, right?"

"Yes, it would." Her silhouette looked very sharp against the stacks of specimen drawers. Then she leveled her gaze on him. "Hodgins, you mainly stay in the lab. But you go out in the field for research. Or if… something bad happens. You helped Booth rescue me from that corrupt FBI agent, Kenton. And you helped find Ingrid Keller. What do you think, about whether the things you study, the insects and particulates, are to help solve murders, or to write academic papers for the sake of knowledge?"

"That's quite a question. Well…" He shoved his hands into his lab coat pockets. "I've never been an adrenaline junkie. Not like Booth is, or even you sometimes. And maybe you're not anymore. I don't see how people can do that sort of thing all their lives."

He hadn't really answered her question. But she glanced at him with a wry expression. "Funny you should say that." After a second's hesitation, she told him about the chase at the burial site yesterday morning. Typical Brennan, she kept it brief. But she sounded upset with herself. "My endocrine system secreted more adrenaline than was necessary for the situation," she concluded. "In fact, it _wasn't _necessary. I must be out of practice."

"Is that such a bad thing?"

"Well… if this really is the end of our crime-solving partnership… What's the correct saying? I want to go out with a bang and not a whisper."

"Dr. B." (He didn't correct her on the term.) "You saved a girl's life. And shot the killer-slash-kidnapper. If that's not going out with a bang then I don't know what is."

She acknowledged that with a half smile. "There's another saying about getting back on a horse after you fall off, but I think it's too late for that."

He wanted to quote something optimistic about it never being too late. But then he had another thought. "Are you afraid Booth will get back on the horse? That he'll stick with the FBI after all?"

"Maybe. I think his co-workers have been telling him he's too good to leave."

"Well, wait a minute. Either of you could go back, right? I mean, Booth would have to leave the field eventually, but this teaching thing doesn't have to be forever. Couldn't you just try it for a couple semesters? Nothing's written in stone."

"We could give it a trial run, yes. But I've found that those types of statements—nothing's written in stone—are often used to make people feel better. They serve as comfort during some unsettling change, while offering little in the way of substance." She paused. "But I appreciate the thought."

He shrugged agreeably. Trust Brennan to cut through the social niceties.

Now she reached out to adjust the position of one vertebra, making Hodgins think, absentminded professor. Maybe she'd been so preoccupied with Booth and his career, that she hadn't considered the changes to her own. And that little scare at the burial site, along with Caroline's offer, didn't help clarify things.

Now he found himself looking at the empty eye sockets on this old lady's cranium. "I didn't really answer your question, before. About real-world applications versus ivory tower science. You know… When I've been out in the field, or even just the lab, but helping track down those kidnapping victims? It's a rush. It's crazy, like you dodged a bullet if you're successful. But it's also too much pressure for one person. At least for me, for any length of time.

"And look. Even here… The Gravedigger got both of us, in our very own parking garage." He heard his voice crack a little. "Now that I have Angie, and I'm gonna be a father, there's no way I'd put myself at greater risk.

"I mean, I'm a scientist. I'm all about maintaining high standards; you have to be, right? But once we set the bar at a certain level—like saving an almost-murder-victim—there's no law saying we have to _keep _meeting that standard.

"I guess what I'm saying is… It's okay to just be a normal person, Dr. B." He gave her a lopsided smile. "To just look after your own life and… not have to save the world."

Brennan had been watching him intently. Now she smiled too, but her eyes… A lot more emotion churned below the surface. Still, her voice was business-like. "I think you're right." She brushed a hand over her ribs. "Now that I know what a serious injury is like, I find my self-preservation instinct is too strong. And it extends to Booth, too."

"Angie will be glad to hear that. She—"

"Why wasn't I invited to this party?" It _was _Angela, standing in the doorway. "You talking about me behind my back again, babe?" She came forward and nudged Hodgins. He'd been distracted by the swish of her dress as she walked, and how it draped gently over her belly.

"What are we talking about?" she asked.

"We're talking about how it's okay for Booth and Dr. B to just be regular people and not action heroes in their jobs."

"I fully support that. Except, I'd also support making some kind of _FBI Booth _action figure. You know, one that's pose-able and dress-able, and anatomically correct, of course."

Brennan gave Angela her 'I don't know what you're talking about' frown. Hodgins just said, "You're nuts, you know that? Where do you come up with this stuff?"

"Well, this kid," she pointed at her abdomen, "is going to be playing with dolls or actions figures before we know it. So we need to practice." Then, effortlessly switching gears, she asked Brennan about the tissue markers on the skull.

"As you can see, I'm not finished applying them. But a facial reconstruction would be very helpful. If this woman was a recent immigrant from another country, it could be hard to find her identity. And we need a name with which to re-bury her. My next step is to conduct an isotope analysis, that will provide specifics about where she lived."

"I hope we can find her family," Angela said. "I mean, are they still in the area? I wouldn't want them to go visit her grave and find there's nothing there."

Brennan nodded, looking determined, as she always did, to solve this puzzle.

Now Angela glanced at Hodgins. "You two were having a pretty good discussion before I interrupted you."

"Yeah." He leaned against the side of the exam table. "Wait, you haven't heard about Caroline's teaching idea, have you?"

Angie looked a little guilty. "Actually, I have. She called me this morning. Sorry, Sweetie—I wasn't supposed to say. But Caroline didn't know if you were committed, so she thought, if I could, you know, nudge you in that direction… Like maybe saying how I need you to be an aunt for this kid, with babysitting and birthday gifts, and not give him any big ideas about shooting guns and running after bad guys."

Brennan was shaking her head. "Caroline is more devious than I have given her credit for."

"Well, some of that was purely me," Angela admitted. "Now, honey, you _are _going to take that mini vacation with Booth, aren't you?"

This was news to Hodgins, but Dr. B nodded. "We're thinking this weekend."

"Perfect. You two should go home, light some candles, cook meals together, and have a lot of great sex. Don't think about work at all. Then, when you come back, if you need me to talk you into this new safe job, I will absolutely do it.

"So, babe," she turned to Hodgins, "you have any other ideas? For why Booth and Brennan should go for this teaching thing, because it doesn't require bullet-proof vests?"

He wasn't ready with an answer. "Well, yeah, but… It's kind of sad to think we won't all be working as a team anymore."

"We still will," Brennan said. "We are right now, for this woman's remains."

"Just not as intensively," Angela put in. "And not as dangerous, either." Then she peered at Hodgins, who'd found himself thinking back on his early days at the Jeffersonian. She nodded at him to say whatever was on his mind.

"In this lab, Dr. B… I, um… I've learned a ton of stuff here. And I don't just mean approaches to science or finding the truth. I mean that… before, I was really confident intellectually. But kind of naïve in other ways. Didn't know how to handle stuff… had some anger management issues, as you might remember." Angie reached over and pinched his wrist, where he used to wear a rubber band to snap. "I feel like we've all changed, in a good way. I went from this narrow, angry science geek to…" A grin spread over his face. "Someone who's much calmer and happier, and… going to be a dad.

"And look at Angie." He gave her a doting pat on the arm. "You were that quintessential flighty artist, who'd never had a job or a relationship that lasted as long as the ones you found here.

"And then," Hodgins said to Brennan, "look at you." He had her full attention by now. "I think the two of us were always great scientists. But now, I say we're overall good _people_, and maybe it took the non-scientists to help us get there."

"Booth," Angela proclaimed, "was like that cool kid in high school. You know, Bren? The one with the leather jacket and the motorcycle, offering drugs and danger if you would help him and be his friend. But you don't need the drugs or danger anymore, Sweetie. Because you have him."

Brennan was trying to make sense of that comparison. "It was originally _my _idea, Angela. I demanded that he include me in the crime solving."

"Yeah, give her some credit, Angie. Maybe Booth gave her the opportunity, but she did the other stuff herself. It's like… he's just the environmental stress, or the competing species, that impels other organisms to evolve."

Dr. B's eyes lit up. "I can see that. I've helped him evolve, too."

Angela cocked her head. "Do I know about this?"

"That wasn't innuendo, Ange."

"Okay, well… Wait, I have another one. Booth is like… No, you and Brennan," she told Hodgins, "are like oysters. All happy as clams in your cozy scientific mud. But then Booth and I come along, and we're like the irritants that get inside the oyster shell. And you know what that little mollusk does over time, with the irritant? It turns it into a pearl."

-.-.-.-.

**AN: **Here's a little idea that didn't make it into the chapter. On his way out, Hodgins turns back to ask Angela, "Wouldn't you want an action figure of me, too? _Jack Hodgins, scientist extraordinaire_. It could come with a little lab coat, microscopes, rare insects…"

"Honey, I already have a patent on the real thing."


	49. Hank and Max

**AN: **As much as I've wanted to forget certain episodes of season 6, this chapter refers to a case from The Feet on the Beach. That lousy ep wouldn't even have happened in my timeline, because this tale takes place earlier in the season. But I'll still make use of the case, if only because one reader requested that Pops "say something hilarious about B/B," and this was my only idea. :)

**Part 49  
**

"Hank? Henry Booth!" Margaret stood in the doorway of the darkened common room, waving a cell phone in the air. "Is this your phone?"

Hank reached to turn down the volume on the film that he and Gene were watching. Now he could hear the phone trilling. "Yeah, it's the one my grandson made me get. Damn annoying gadget…"

Margaret leaned over the couch to hand it to him. "Hang on," he said to Gene, "pause the movie would ya?" He peered at the phone, looking for the right button to push, then shot Margaret a suspicious look. "How did you get this, anyway?"

"I was walking by your room, the door was open and I heard it ringing." Then she put her hands on her hips. "Not like I haven't been in there before. By invitation, if you recall."

He winked, but kept up the pretense of being a grouch. "All right, I guess I should thank you."

The phone had gone silent by now, but the screen told him his grandson had called. Hank found the redial and waited until Seeley picked up.

"Past your bedtime, Pops?"

"Very funny, Shrimp. No, I'm watching a war movie with my buddy."

"Who's that?" Gene asked, fiddling with his hearing aid.

"It's my grandson. You wouldn't like him. He's a cop." Then he addressed Seeley. "I must've told him that ten times and he always forgets."

"Well, I might not be a cop much longer. But why wouldn't he like me? Is something going on that I should know about, Pops?"

"Nah. Gene just likes to help me break the rules around here. But _you _had better tell me more about this new job idea. It wasn't too clear, what you said before."

"I know, sorry I had to rush off. Status report meeting for my boss, on this case we're about to close. So, Pops, you wanted to come visit this weekend?"

"Sure, if that works. Want to spend time with you and Temperance. Maybe see that fancy lab of hers, make you grilled cheese for dinner... Then say I told you so, now that you two are finally an item. And you should've listened to me all along."

-.-.-.-.

Hank got out of the cab in front of the diner. He was early, to meet Seeley and Temperance for lunch. But never mind, he could sit and order a sandwich and talk to the pretty waitress, what was her name?

The bell over the door tinkled as he went in, pulling his wheeled suitcase. The place was busy but not packed. Then he saw some man sitting at _their _table. The table by the window that Seeley always took. Hank grunted in disapproval. Looking around, he saw that the only other free tables were either right by the door or far in the corner, and he didn't like the look of those.

He walked a few steps closer to get a look at this character. The guy had gray hair and blue eyes, and had just taken a drink from his coffee cup. He glanced around the diner, and then out the window, looking both watchful and smug. Hank didn't like it. He was reminded of a fellow he'd been an MP with. You could never tell if that guy was lying. He always had some tall tale to spin you.

Well. Maybe this man would leave. If he'd already eaten, maybe he'd do the decent thing and give way to a guy even older than he was. Hank shifted his grip on his suitcase. Worth a try.

He shuffled down between the bar stools and tables. "S'cuse me. I was wondering if maybe you were almost finished here. I'm meeting some people, see, and this is kind of our table."

The man gave him a cool once-over. "Don't think I've seen you here before."

"I come and go. What's it to you?"

"Well, I'm waiting to meet some people too. And I was here first." His mouth smiled, but his eyes definitely didn't.

"Now wait a minute," Hank growled. "I don't like your tone."

"Hey, um… Is there a problem?" It was a kid wearing the diner's uniform, looking nervous.

"No," Hank said ominously, "not yet."

The other man opened his mouth to answer, but just then, Hank heard that blasted cell phone ringing. Grumbling, he turned out his jacket pockets until he found it. "Yeah?" he barked.

"Hi, Pops. I'm afraid I'm running late. Are you…?"

"I'm at the diner already. Now if I could just get a damn table…"

The waiter kid was trying to gesture him toward one in the corner, but Hank waved him away. He let Seeley give an excuse—Friday afternoon, stuff to wrap up at work—and promise that he and Temperance would be there soon.

"What's she been up to, huh? Do I still get that lab tour today?"

Shrimp agreed that he would. "Everyone wants to meet you."

Somewhat mollified, Hank said, "Okay, Seeley," and ended the call. "All right, kid." He turned to the employee, sounding resigned. "Where are you taking me?"

"Wait a minute." The unfriendly man now had a curious light in his eyes. "You didn't mean the Jeffersonian lab, did you?"

Hank turned back around. "So what if I did?"

When the man smiled this time, it looked sincere. "My daughter works there. And the person you were just talking to… Seeley _Booth_?"

Hank narrowed his eyes. "How did you…?" But Shrimp was someone to be proud of, so he stood up very straight. "He's my grandson."

Now the man's eyes twinkled. "He's also dating my daughter. Dr. Temperance Brennan."

"What! Your daughter? Well, why the blazes didn't you say something? Or—any of you." He shook a fist toward a couple diner employees. "Letting us make fools of ourselves, fighting over this table."

Temperance's father gestured for him to take the chair opposite. Chuckling, Hank sat down, and offered his hand. "Call me Hank."

The man shook it. "Max."

-.-.-.-.

When Seeley and Temperance came in half an hour later, Max was in the middle of a story—about one of their cases. (Hank had told him a few tales too, "enough to curl your hair," about his days as an MP.)

"So, it was the other student who killed him?"

"Right," Max said. "They both worked on the body farm, but those marijuana plants were contaminating the first kid's project." He looked up to acknowledge his daughter and Seeley. "Tempe loved that place, didn't you, honey?"

"Dad, what are you doing here?"

Max wrinkled his forehead. "Why do you always sound dismayed, instead of happy to see me?"

It looked like she couldn't find an answer to that. So she pulled out a chair and sat down, giving Max a kiss on the cheek. "_Love _might be too strong a word," she clarified, "about the body farm."

Shrimp sat down too. "You gotta admit, Bones, you were pretty excited about it. Hey, Pops, c'mere." They gave each other one-armed hugs. Then he looked at Max. "What _are _you doing here? I thought you two didn't even know each other."

The old men shared a conspiratorial glance.

"They didn't." A waitress came by to refill Max's coffee and take lunch orders. "We thought we'd have to break up a fight there for a while."

Once everyone had decided what to eat, Temperance turned back to Max. "Dad, I never told you about that case."

"You told me about the body farm."

"Yes, but not details of the investigation. Have you… have you been sneaking into our files?"

"Sneaking? I would never do that."

"_Max_." With that warning note in his voice, Seeley sounded so grown up.

"Don't worry, honey," Max told his daughter. "I heard it from your bug guy Hodgins. We were eating lunch here at the same time, a few days after that case."

Temperance seemed satisfied, and shared a sheepish smile with her dad.

"So," Hank demanded, "what's the end of the story? Just arrest the kid and that's it? I mean, you took pictures of the pot plants, right? To match them, and the bugs, to ones found on the body... Then just had the FBI seize the whole crop?" Hank shook his head. "Waste of good weed, I say."

"Pops!"

"Oh, relax, Shrimp. Like you've never tried it? You went to college, didn't you? I'm just saying…" He took a sip from his water glass. "Aside from the decomposing bodies, that was a pretty boring case. Science, work, procedure… Don't you two have any fun?" He lowered his voice. "You know, 'confiscate' the pot plants, get high and have sex, like normal people. Am I right?"

Max coughed, chuckling, and Temperance's voice trembled between laughter and skepticism. "Is that how 'normal people' spend their free time?"

Shrimp had put his head in his hands, but Hank could tell that he, too, was trying not to laugh. "Bones. Don't encourage him."

Their food arrived, and Seeley passed Hank a sandwich. Temperance picked up her salad fork and said, "Well, Booth and I are taking a long weekend, to relax and have fun."

Hank looked from her to Seeley. "Hold on. _This _weekend? Why didn't you say something?" He elbowed Shrimp. "I could've come next week. I don't want to cramp your style."

"No, Pops, you can come whenever you want. We're family, right? Bones and I still have days off next week, so there's plenty of time."

"If you say so. But if you need me to get lost for a few hours, I will. Now," he went on before they could object. "Tell me about this teaching thing."

Between bites of lunch, they did.

"I like it," Hank said grudgingly. "Even if it's not off the ground yet. Anything to take you off the city streets," he told Shrimp, "and reduce the chance you'll get shot at."

Temperance brandished her fork in the air. "I concur, vehemently."

"Long as you're not addicted to it, huh? 'Cause you always liked doing tough guy cop stuff, didn't you, Seeley? You gonna be okay with simulations, instead of the real thing?"

Shrimp looked like he hadn't thought of it in those terms. His eyes went out of focus for a minute, considering. But when he looked up, it was Temperance's gaze he sought.

"Yeah. I think I am."

They looked at each other a moment longer, and Hank felt himself sigh. So well matched, those two.

"Well," he said gruffly, "good. You're too cute to be crime fighters, anyway."


	50. Participant observation

**AN: **I wanted to end this story on a nice number of chapters like 50. But I haven't had enough time to write, so I offer this section, to be followed by one or two more.

I include a poem by Korkut Onaran, from his 2007 collection, to help illustrate the B/B romance. Thanks to RL friend la mome for introducing me to his work.

**Part 50  
**

Brennan spent the weekend with Booth, Hank and Parker.

Things were a little cramped in Booth's apartment—Pops in the guest room and Parker sleeping on the couch—but no one seemed to mind. They cooked meals, played dominoes, and planned a trip to the park on Sunday afternoon.

The night before, she and Booth went grocery shopping, while Hank stayed to help Parker with a homework assignment.

Brennan was standing in the aisle checking ingredients on a packaged rice mix when Booth said, "Bones, I've got it."

"Got what?" He'd been rather quiet, she realized, for the last few minutes.

"About this teaching thing… Pops asked me if I'd be okay with classrooms and simulations, instead of catching real criminals. But that's only one way to look at it."

"It is?"

"Yeah, see…" Booth leaned on the shopping cart, his eyes roaming over the shelves. "I was just thinking about cooking, with you and Parker and Pops. And that case, the woman who owned a restaurant… how she said cooking was a form of love, and how you made me gourmet mac and cheese afterward?" His eyes rested on her, so teasing and warm, that she felt a familiar tightness in her chest.

"And then I thought about Gordon Wyatt giving us crazy hors d'oeuvres, and how everyone was bugging him about why he quit psychiatry to become a chef. And he said, he wanted to put good things into people, instead of taking bad things out. That's what I want, Bones. Because, murder cases… they're too much, after all this. I know you're not sure about Quantico, and neither was I. But I think that… I want to put good people into society, instead of taking bad ones out."

-.-.-.-.

Unseasonably warm weather arrived that weekend, and the park was full of children, dogs, runners and couples.

Booth and Brennan found a smooth grassy section to call their own. Parker wasted no time: he grabbed the football and ran with it, daring his dad to come get him. When Booth chased him, he threw the ball to Hank, who grabbed it neatly from the air. "You gonna be on my team, Temperance?"

Parker yelled, "Pass it back! I'll go long."

"Now wait a minute," Booth told him. "If they're playing with us, we've got to tone it down. 'Cause you don't play tackle football with girls or grandpas, right? You just tag them."

"I _know_, Dad. We only play flag football in gym, anyway."

Brennan shared a look with Hank. "I think we're tougher than that, don't you?"

He nodded. "Let's kill 'em."

Despite their bluster, Brennan had to admit that she and Hank were inferior players. After months without running, she was rather slow. Hank could shuffle along at a good clip, but as he said, "A snail could catch me."

Still, they had a good time.

Halfway through the game she caught a wild pass from Parker and took off toward the goal line. Dodging let her elude Booth for a few steps, but then he caught her elbow and pulled her to a stop. She cocked her arm to try a throw, but Hank had grabbed Parker and they were tussling good-naturedly.

Booth managed to pin both her arms at her sides, and she wriggled against him. "Come on, Booth," she panted. "Not going to close the deal and tackle me?"

She was laughing and so was he, his quick breath on her hair. "What," he growled, "are you trying to imply, Bones?"

Now her struggling brought her hips back hard against his, and he held her a little tighter, to keep her there. She broke free a second later, and they stood grinning at each other under the tree shadows. She was sure she had a reckless gleam in her eye. And in his, she could see triumph, humor, joy… and the promise of later.

When they went to retrieve a picnic lunch from the car, Booth drew her aside. "You made some pretty good throws, there."

"I have a good teacher."

If she expected him to puff up with pride, she was wrong. His forehead creased with worry. "Are you sure you're okay? Scar's not giving you any pain?"

"No, it's fine." He raised his brows, not sure she was being honest. "I still feel some twinges, if I flex or rotate. But I promise it's fine."

-.-.-.-.

Brennan was thoughtful during lunch.

Parker asked Hank to tell stories about when Booth and Jared were kids, and Brennan recognized some of them. She'd heard them when Hank came by to visit, during her recovery

Now the four of them lounged on a blanket, passing around sandwiches, strawberries and potato chips. She and Hank sat cross legged, while Booth and Parker sprawled in similar poses of carelessness.

Brennan was still getting used to the idea that these men thought of her as family. As comfortable as she felt right now, there was distance, too. Awareness. Of how different things were today, compared with the solitude she'd felt a few months ago.

I'm an anthropologist, she told herself, even here. Part of the action of everyday life, but not fully immersed in it. Participant-observer in this time and culture: _Sunday at the park with multi-generational American males. _

"Now, wait a minute, Pops. That's not how I remember it."

"Oh, really?"

Booth decided to tell the story from his own point of view, and Brennan watched him. The way his lips and vocal chords formed sounds and words. The sunlight on his hair, flickering through the trees. The reach of his strong hands, offering orange slices to his son across the blanket.

Then Booth nudged her, startling her out of her reflections. "Guess what I told him, Bones."

Just like that, she plunged back into the performance. "No, I can't guess. What did you say to Jared?"

Grinning, Booth continued the story. He was lying on his side, propped on one elbow. Now he put down his sandwich and rested one hand casually on her knee. As he talked, his fingers played with the hem of her skirt. Gently rolling the seam, and sometimes touching her skin.

Hank noticed, and smiled.

Parker was laughing at Booth's imitation of an eight-year-old Jared. Children's shouts drifted from the playground, an appropriate backdrop to the story.

Brennan could feel the soft-but-prickly grass beneath the blanket, and Booth's fingers on her skin. She took a strawberry and bit into it, the sweetness exploding on her tongue.

-.-.-.-.

_Our Tenth_

_the wind is tying knots of blue_

_around the masts of time_

_deep under your waters oysters_

_have been building a lover out of me_

_I've been becoming _

_in you since I met you_

_a skin of pleasure has been forming_

_on my tongue's speaking_

_to you._

-.-.-.-.

**AN: **I'd forgotten about this Onaran poem when I wrote Angela's pearls/oysters line. Worked out well, didn't it?


	51. Golf and goggles

**AN: **I hope you're all having a lovely holiday season. I was forced to take a writing break because of work rather than holiday plans. This story has about one chapter left. Essentially fluff and smut. Enjoy.

**Part 51**

Pops returned to the retirement community Sunday night, but not until Booth and Bones had promised to play golf with him the next day.

After Parker was in bed, Booth dropped onto the couch next to Brennan. "Golf with geezers, huh? That's not really what I had in mind for this vacation."

"We'll get to meet some of Hank's friends."

"Yeah, but… this was supposed to be _our _time. I've barely had you to myself for five minutes. And tomorrow's going to be busier than I thought. Because Charlie from the Bureau—he's moving into a new apartment. Sorry, Bones. I already promised I'd help him. I didn't know it was going to be tomorrow."

She lifted one shoulder. "If you gave your word, I know you need to honor it. Just be careful not to hurt your back." Then she slid closer to him. "Will you still come swimming in the afternoon?"

They'd planned to hit the gym for its large lap pool. Bones had tried paddling at her apartment a couple weeks ago, but still found it painful. After all that waiting for her injury to heal, he knew she had her heart set on it.

"Yes," he told her. "I will move furniture, hit golf balls with old people, and then I will come swimming with you."

"That's going to be a long day. Are you sure you won't be too tired for a romantic evening?"

"With you, Bones?" He put his arm around her. "Never."

-.-.-.-.

First thing Monday morning, Booth dropped Parker back with his mother. Then he went to help Charlie unload his stuff at the new apartment.

It promised to be warm that day, even hot. _Global climate change_, Bones had said grimly. And, after an hour of lugging boxes up stairs, he felt just as dour as she'd sounded.

They finished on schedule, luckily, and Charlie bought him a beer and sandwich for lunch. Then he went home long enough to grab a clean shirt, swimming gear, and to pick up Bones from her apartment.

On the way to the golf course he asked what she'd been doing. "I had some journals to read, and a review article to start." She eyed him. "How's your back?"

He shifted in the car seat. "Not the best, but it'll be fine. I can always go in the hot tub while you're swimming, right?"

Golf with Pops and his friends turned out to be fun. Booth was glad to see that for all his grumbling, Pops seemed happy there. And if this group was any indication, the retirement community resembled high school. You had the same loyal friendships, ongoing gossip, rifts and romance. Just slower paced, with blood pressure medication and dentures.

The golf course, under this noonday sun, felt muggy and summer-like. Booth stood in the shade of a tree, watching Pops bicker with Margaret about the shot he was taking.

But Booth would rather watch Brennan. She wore a tight-fitting blue top, khakis, and a big sun hat. Right now she put her hands on her hips and suggested what trajectory Pops should aim for. Her hair shone auburn in the sun. Booth saw how the shadow of the hat shifted when she moved. It touched the low neckline of her shirt, then tilted up along her collarbone.

When she turned to him, he raised his eyes back to her face. Her mouth twitched like she was trying not to smile, and knew full well he'd been admiring her.

-.-.-.-.

Booth pulled on swim trunks, sluiced himself in the shower, then went out to the lap pool. Bones stood in the shallow end adjusting her goggles. It wasn't crowded at this time of day, so he could take the adjacent lane and not have to share.

Booth hopped into the water, smiling. That simple navy suit she wore, with matching swim cap? He found it dorky and sexy. She nodded at him, then slid cautiously under the water. He watched her for one lap, starting with breaststroke, then switching to freestyle. Her strokes looked clean and strong.

Pulling on his own goggles, he kicked off, stretching into a lazy crawl. After the work he'd done today, the water felt great. He basked in the turquoise ripples and the rhythm of his breathing. The tantalizing views of Bones going past, trailing a stream of bubbles. All curves and pale skin and muscle, graceful as a seal.

He didn't bother to count his laps, but a good amount of time had passed. The swimmer in the next lane left, and another took his place. How long did Bones want to stay? It seemed she was getting faster, but Booth sure wasn't. Stopping at the shallow end, he caught his breath, and shoved the goggles up on his forehead.

Bones appeared next to him. She surfaced, dripping, brushing water off her face. And laughing. "Booth, I can do it! Nothing hurts. Everything feels wonderful." Her eyes looked blurry behind the goggles, but her joy was clear. She grabbed his arm, still laughing. "I can do it."

He grinned, laughing with her. "I can see that, baby. You're setting records here."


	52. So hard

**AN: **This is the last chapter! Unbeta'd and hot off the presses.

I quote another poem by Korkut Onaran, for B/B sexy times.

Isn't Booth a lucky dog? He gets to start and end this story in bed with someone. At least now, it's the right someone.

**Part 52  
**

"You're not wincing anymore, Bones."

"What?"

Booth turned his car out of the gym parking lot and headed toward Brennan's apartment.

"I mean, before, every time you'd sit down or stand up, like getting into the car, or getting out of bed—you would wince. Right up until this past week."

She considered. "I suppose you're correct."

"And _that _was right when we decided to go teach at Quantico, rather than putting our lives on the line with crime fighting. That's when you stopped having that lingering pain—now that we know we're going to be safe." The skeptical lift of her eyebrows didn't deter him. "That's my theory."

"Your theory is just a hypothesis, Booth. There's no way to test it. And the timing was just coincidence, because the final stages of healing…"

"I don't care." His smile was arrogant but endearing. "That's my _hypothesis _and I'm sticking by it." He reached over and slid his hand under her damp hair, cupping the back of her neck.

-.-.-.-.

Only moments after they'd arrived, Booth was peering into the fridge. "Are we really having leftovers for dinner? That's not very romantic, Bones."

"I suggested that we pick up groceries or takeout earlier, but you didn't want to stop. Here." She forestalled whatever he was about to say, reaching for one of the cabinets. "We'll light some candles with our leftovers. Will that be romantic enough?" She set a few candles on the counter and turned, finding him right next to her.

He seemed to know the effect that his presence—and low voice—could have. "Maybe."

He'd taken a quick shower at the gym, but she'd elected to wait until she got home. Her skin suddenly itched to be free of clothing, and not just to wash off residual chlorine. "Would it be more romantic…" She hooked her fingers through a belt loop on his jeans. "If you joined me in the shower?"

A slow smile lit his face. "Bones, you're a genius." He started to put his arms around her and pull her close, but she slipped away.

"Just give me five minutes by myself, okay? I want to wash my hair and…" She stroked his broad shoulders as she departed. "You take up too much space."

-.-.-.-.

Booth brought a draft of cool air with him when he entered the shower. Brennan shivered under the hot water. But she got to feast her eyes on him: the well-muscled shoulders and strong lines of his chest. The definition in his quads and shapely calves. The way his hair had dried in disarray after swimming; but now as he leaned under the water, it started to flatten down.

He shuffled forward, purposefully crowding her. "I take up too much space, huh?" His eyes were hooded and laughing.

"Showering together," she said primly, "isn't as enjoyable as one might think. There's only room under the spray for one person, so the other one gets cold."

"You don't look cold, Bones. You look hot." He smiled at his wit, then squeezed some shower gel into his hands and reached for her. "Anyway, that just means…" His palms found the sides of her waist, drawing her near. "We have to get a lot closer." One step forward, and their chests and stomachs touched. She twined her arms around his neck.

"Or," he suggested, "you could use your millions to get one of those giant four-way showers." His hands slid, warm and slippery, over her skin. "What do you say?"

She sighed at his touch: down the edge of her ribcage, over her hips. Around to her lower back and boldly down, taking a tight grip on her buttocks. "But this…" She tried to marshal her thoughts. "We're already wasting too much water. It's irresponsible."

"You want me to turn it off?" He leaned into her, pushing them directly under the spray. The water struck gently on her face and neck, flowing down her back and legs. Her hands fell to Booth's arms as he bent his head, lips and teeth nipping at the side of her throat.

"No," she breathed. "_Yes_." He looked up in triumph, knowing the sound for appreciation, not an answer to his question.

-.-.-.-.

Eventually, they made it into bed.

She'd hardly bothered with a robe, discarding it on the floor. She lay beside him, one leg over his thigh, their feet already tangled in the covers. Brennan walked her fingers and tongue over his body, laughing when he laughed and smiling when he shivered.

But they were well into their frolic before she realized Booth was worried.

"Uh, Bones… this is kind of ironic. I wait five days to get you alone and then…" He glanced down his body. "I mean, I'm not quite as… I'm turned on, I swear." Following his gaze, she shrugged inwardly. Then she took the opportunity to climb across his hips and straddle him properly.

"Perhaps you're simply tired," she told him, "or dehydrated after today. You did a lot of work and the weather was very warm." Placing her hands on his torso, she stroked that solid chest and lean belly. He exhaled loudly when she went lower, over the muscles and sinews of his hips.

"You shouldn't," she said in a throaty voice, "have had beer instead of water. After moving all that furniture… then golf in the hot sun… and then swimming, you should drink at least twelve ounces, to replenish what you lost."

Booth didn't seem to be listening. His hands had claimed her thighs and his eyes closed. "Yeah," he breathed. "You're so… yeah." She took his inarticulateness as a good sign. His legs tensed under her, the hard muscles shifting, and it forced her own thighs a little wider.

"We have _got _to do this vacation thing more often," he gasped. "Just us."

"I agree." Moving forward a little, she rocked herself, slickly, against him. That produced a response, although not as robust a one as she'd come to expect from him.

"God, baby. I, um… guess I am tired. Maybe if I go drink a bunch of water, like you said…"

She leaned down, stroking the stubble along his jaw. "I'm not overly concerned with what your penis is doing when we make love."

His laugh caught in his throat. "_What_?"

"That's an important part, yes. But I also…" She smiled, lazy and confident. "It's a full-body experience with you, Booth. I get a great deal of pleasure from what your hands are doing..." She put her hand over his, where it rested on her thigh. "And your lips…." She trailed one finger over his mouth and down his throat. "Your voice…"

His eyes glittered and he looked smug. "Anything else?"

"Also, your brain." Her fingers traced the fine lines on his forehead. "And your heart."

"Really, Bones? You're using that metaphorically?"

"I am."

He was teasing, but clearly enjoyed what she'd said. "You know, I don't think my brain's working at all, when I'm in bed with you."

"The brain is always active," she corrected automatically, "even when you sleep. But I know yours is working. Because… you know how to bring me pleasure, and joy, and make me laugh."

He pushed up on his elbows so he could kiss her, raising his knees so as not to spill her off his lap. Their lips met and his tongue stroked, sultry, along her own. When he drew back, he was smiling.

"You know what, Bones? I'm not so tired as I thought."

-.-.-.-.

_Home_

_.  
_

_my hands _

_walk your topography_

_like Odysseus I am _

_back home on your shores_

_remapping my identity_

_._

_my lips_

_walk yours_

_in your center_

_and you open to me_

_all that is closed_

_._

_and I put in you my heart_

_to pump my blood_

_into your boundaries_

_._

_and instead of mine_

_around my body_

_I feel your skin_

_._

_this is when we are_

_the closest._

-.-.-.-.

They got up long enough to have that candle-lit meal, wearing only robes. Booth poured himself a big glass of water, managing to smirk and look wry at the same time. Afterward, they decided to go right back to bed. On impulse, Brennan carried the candles with her.

"Dessert before _and _after dinner." Booth extended one arm in a gallant gesture, letting her precede him. "That's what I'm talking about."

She put the candles on the bedside table, then they shed their robes and crawled under the covers. Booth lay on his back, and she cuddled close, resting her head on his chest. His arm came around her, fingers idly stroking her hair, then along her cheek and shoulder.

She sighed, content, though not immediately amorous. She could taste the wine she'd had at dinner, a faint tingle on her tongue. Booth, too, she tasted, breathing in his scent. Musk and salt and freshness like the great outdoors.

He smiled, catching her eye. "We should have done this a long time ago."

She lifted her head. "Gone to bed together? Or had a relationship?"

He chuckled. "Both."

Now she traced the scar over his pectoral muscle. Golden candlelight flickered across his face, and she felt suddenly like crying.

"Bones? What are you thinking?"

She shook her head. "Not thinking much. Just… feeling."

"What? I've been trying to get you to do that for ages. Are you coming down with something?" He started to feel her forehead before turning serious. "What are you feeling?"

"Happy. Grateful. And… I'm thinking of all the events that got us to this point. The combination of variables."

"Okay, that sounds more like you." His voice rumbled pleasantly under her cheek. At the window, streetlights glowed on the blinds, a colder hue than the candlelight.

"Booth?"

"Yeah?"

She raised her head to look at him. "I love you. So hard."

For a moment, he stared. It shouldn't be a shock, she thought. Then his mouth trembled into a grin, and his eyes shone. "I love you too." He'd kept his arm around her, and his hands played with the hair falling loose down her back. She recognized the teasing curve to his mouth. "So _hard_, Bones? Not so much?"

"So much, yes." She leaned on her elbow next to him. "But _so hard _implies intensity, not quantity. Quantity of love is very hard to measure. But ferocity, you can feel. And, by that subjective measure… I love you. Fiercely."

She thought she sounded matter of fact. It must have been more, however, because Booth looked speechless. "I know you feel the same," she told him. "You showed me that intensity, tonight. You've shown it many times… in little ways and big ways. Like when you wouldn't leave the hospital after I got shot, or…" She put her hand on his chest. "When you took a bullet for me."

He sat up so abruptly that she drew back in surprise. "Bones." His voice scraped. It was his turn to lay a hand, softly, on the pink seam angling across her belly. "I would… I would always…" His eyes held hers. Limpid, dark.

"I know, Booth. Me too."

"You're amazing," he whispered, "you know that?" Though he smiled, his brow creased when he looked at the scar.

"Don't," she told him. "Don't do that. Every time you look at it, you get much too gentle. Especially when we're in bed together."

He regarded her, unreadable. "You don't want gentle, huh?" She didn't catch the predatory gleam in his eye until it was too late. He rolled over, settling on top of her before she could react. He kissed her, hard, while his weight pressed into her, thighs easing hers apart. His hands, hot and firm, came down on her hips, tilting her exactly where he wanted her.

-.-.-.-.

Afterward, he wore a sheepish look. "Speaking of _so hard_, Bones… I had a good time, but I know I wasn't…"

"I had a very good time. I'm sure you noticed."

They lay on their sides facing each other. Candles still flickered from the nightstand, and Brennan had turned the lamp on low, so she could see Booth clearly.

"Yeah, I'm glad. It's just… I hate to say this but… the last few times I was in bed with Hannah, I—I wasn't quite as…"

"You were unhappy with the quality of your erection?"

He winced, but agreed.

"Wait," she said, "you told me there was a rule, no bringing up previous lovers when we're in bed together."

"I guess I did. Sorry. But I have a theory about this. I just don't know if it's right."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, see… I knew Hannah wasn't the one I wanted. But I went out with her anyway. And if things didn't go as well in the bedroom, well, maybe that was a sign. Even if it took me a while to admit it."

"That's the psychological explanation."

"I know you hate that. But…" He touched her shoulder. "I'm with the right person now, so it shouldn't be a problem."

"Booth." She sighed at the anxiety she'd heard, that his 'theory' hadn't held up. "Studies _have _shown that sex is mainly in the brain. And as flattering as your explanation might be for me, I'm sure the causes are purely physical. The exercise you had today, combined with a lack of adequate hydration…"

"You really think that's it?"

"Yes. And you are getting older. Almost half of men your age will experience some kind of erectile dysfunc—"

"Okay!" He held up a hand. "I get it." Then it was his turn to sigh. "Getting old, huh? Why doesn't that make me feel better?"

She smiled sweetly. "You can always trust me to tell you the truth."

He swatted her on the hip and she cried, "Watch it, mister. I'm just saying that… biological factors can be powerful. Your penis is not a mechanical tool, Booth. You can't just switch it on whenever you want to."

He grinned. "When I was younger I could. I _feel _like I can, when I'm with you. I feel like I can do anything."

"And what do you want to do right now?" Her voice was rich with innuendo, but his was sincere.

"This." He trailed his knuckles down the side of her face, then kissed her collarbone, her throat. "Bones. You wanna help me break some records for a man my age?"

He kissed her until she laughed, and then until she stopped laughing, but wrapped her arms and legs around him, and held on. Fiercely.

-.-.-.-.

**AN: **It's over! What shall I do? Oh yes, I have to finish Mirror.

I can't take credit for the "mechanical tool" idea. That comes from the fun and educational book _Men in Bed _by Barbara Keesling.


End file.
